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390 Broadway. New York. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Munro’s Elementary School Books. 


GERMAN SERIES. 

No. 1. The German Self-Instructor. Price 25 cents. Being a method of 
learning German on a new and easy plan. By Edward Chamier, Professor 
of German, New York City. 

No. 2. Price 25 cents. 'Being a continuation of the German Self-In- 
structor, intended for persons who are their own . instructors, and also 
specially adapted for schools. By Edward Chamier. 


FRENCH SERIES. 

No. 1. Price 25 cents. By Illion Costellano. Being an Elementary 
Grammar of the French Language containing the words most in use, with 
their pronunciation; designed expressly for Young Learners, Soldiers, Sail- 
ors, 'rravelers, and all persons who are their own instructors. 

No. 2. Price 25 cents. By Lucien Oudin, Professor of French in the 
College of the City of New York. Being a practical guide to the acquisition 
of the French Language. 

SPANISH SERIES. 

No. 1. Price 25 cents. By Lttcien Oudin, Professor of Languages, and 
Instructor in French at the College in the City of New York. This book is a 
practical guide to the acquisition of the Spanish Language. 

Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

(P. O. Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 

(,EIN ABME8 MABGHEN.) 


By W. HEIMBURG. 

o 


FROM THE GERMAN BY 

EDWYNA BENEDICT. 



NEAV YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 VaNDE WATER tiTBEET. 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1887, by 
GEORGE MUNRO, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


/ 


DEDICATED 


MY ELLY. 






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X 










A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


CHAPTER L 

Both windows were softly opened, letting the warm, 
damp, caressing air of spring into a room, where it played 
about the face of a very young woman — a face that lay 
strangely pale and still against the white pillows of the 
couch. The breeze gently lifted the short, thick curls of 
fair hair from the wan forehead, and it moved the blue 
curtains which hung around a cradle which had been 
pushed into the furthest corner of the room, as if it were 
in the way, no matter where it might be. 

‘‘ Come away, Hegebach!^^ said a deep, womanly voice, 
‘‘ the Lord giveth, and He also taketh away, and we must 
bear it patiently. 

A tall woman, about forty years of age, approached, as 
she said these words, to the man who knelt motionless be- 
fore the bed, with his arms thrown wildly over the form of 
his dead wife. Still he did not move, and the speaker 
hastily wiped the tears from her clear, bright eyes. 

‘‘ Hegebach! it will not do; you must not lie here the 
whole day long, without anything to eat or drink! Come,” 
she continued, the commanding tone lost in a half -stifled 
sob, ‘‘ come, Hegebach; you still have duties. Think of 
the child!” 

He gave a hollow groan and started up. Sorrow had 
made the face, with its unmistakable military beard, look 
older than ever; the. staring eyes had an almost crazed ex- 
pression as they gazed at the sweet, peaceful form that 


8 


A PEN'KILESS OKPHAK. 


slumbered so quietly. Then, turning suddenly away, he 
left the room, with clanking spurs, no longer a mourner, 
but an angry man, with the manner of one who had been 
deeply injured. The woman, who was thus left alone, 
drew the white folds of the shroud into place, and stroked 
the child-like face caressingly; then she took up the cradle 
from the corner and carried it away. 

A cry sounded from the opposite room. 

Quickly opening the door, she went into a small cham- 
ber, which had only one window; it was very dainty, 
though almost too simple for a woman of high position, 
with its fine white curtains and the sewing-table by the 
window, through which one could see the waving branches 
and tender green twigs of the lindens in their delicate 
spring bloom. No one was here, only on the sofa lay a 
little white bundle, from which a pair of tiny pink hands 
were stretched out, and an almost helpless cry was heard. 

The tall, stately woman sunk suddenly upon her knees 
before the sofa, and, weeping, buried her face in the little 
pillow. 

‘‘ Yes, yes,^^ she whispered; “the world does not smile 
upon you, poor little thing! Motherless! motherless! And 
your father acts as though he felt God had done him a 
great wrong in leaving a baby girl with him! You poor 
child! why are not you a boy? Every one away, of course! 
They leave you here to cry, and you are hungry too!^' . 

She stopped and looked at the baby for an instant as if 
she were considering what to do; then, as it began to cry 
again, hardly having been pacified: 

“ Wait, dear, wait!’^ she said, quickly, lifting the child. 
“ 1^11 take you to the Burg with me. What would he do 
with such a baby?’^ 

Two days later, the young wife of Captain von Hegebach 
was buried; the story of her* short life was the one subject 
of conversation in the whole town, and those who had not 
known her soon learned that she had been a young girl of 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


9 


good family, but very poor, and had only married this 
man, who was so much older and also poor, in order to 
provide a home for herself. 

Nobody had thought that he would ever marry, for he 
was already an old bachelor, and morose and ill-humored 
besides. Now it was just a year since he had brought this 
ray of sunlight to his home. What a wee bit of happiness! 

“ If it were that at all,^^ said many others. 

Captain von Selchow, indeed, on the way to the house of 
mourning, assured some of his young comrades he knew 
from an authentic source “ that Von Hegebach’s marriage 
had only been a coup de desespoir, . He, Hegebach, had re- 
ceived a letter from his old uncle, ‘ the Bennewitzer 
Von Hegebach, of Bennewitz, you know — about fifteen 
months before, in which the old man had explained clearly 
and concisely that he did not feel the least inclination to 
bequeath his fortune to a couple of old bachelors such as 
his nephews unfortunately appeared to be; he wished to 
know for whom he had saved his money. Whichever of 
the two should first announce to him the birth of a legiti- 
mate son, he should have the preference. Daughters were 
not even considered. Hegebach ^s cousin, of the Fifth Dra- 
goons, did not answer this epistle, and people whispered of 
a liaison from which he could not immediately extricate 
himself. 

‘‘Our captain, however, replied a week afterward, with 
the announcement of his engagement. Voild tout ! You 
all know the rest. We are present to-day at the sad ter- 
mination of the affair. The little Von Hegebach was a 
charming woman! It is deplorable !^^ he concluded, pa- 
thetically. t 

Frau von Katenow, from the Burg, had been with the 
young mother to the last, and had also done the honor in 
the house of mourning. The families were distantly related. 

The parents of the young wife were no longer living, but 
her guardian had arrived in the morning for the funeral; 


10 


A PENJSriLESS OEPHAN. 


the officers and principal men of the place had appeared, 
and the band of the regiment had marched before the 
flower-covered casket, through the winding streets, and 
played ‘‘Jesus, my Hope.-’' The widower had followed 
the hearse in full uniform; no sign of grief was seen in his 
face; instead of that, however, there was an expression of 
bitter contempt; it was as though the lips under the gray 
beard were ready to break into a scornful smile. 

Then that was over. Everybody was gone. One more 
mound of fresh earth in the church-yard. The drive-way 
to the desolate house was again deserted; only one carriage, 
with superb black horses, stood before the door. 

In the dead mother's room, the basket-cradle, with the 
sleeping child, was being slowly rocked; an old servant, 
her eyes red with weeping, sat by it with idle hands. She 
had already covered up the simple furniture; the dainty 
table-scarf, and the flowers in the window had disappeared; 
the curtains and rugs were put away, and now it looked 
uninhabited and forsaken, as if the occupant had set out 
on a long, long journey. 

Frau von Eatenow had gone into the captain's dark, un- 
comfortable living-room; she had already put on her bon- 
net and cloak. 

“ Good-bye, Hegebach!" she said; “ I must go home 
now; they have just sent for me. Moritz has come, and 
everything has been topsy-turvy at the house for the last 
week. I do not need to assure you that the little girl shall 
have the best of care." 

He had been standing by the window, looking out into 
the narrow street; but now he turned around, and looked 
with astonishment at the handsome, resolute woman. 

“Well," she continued, “ she is here, and needs care 
and attention; no little baby could thrive in your smoky 
rooms. I do it from love of her mother, for I am no 
longer accustomed to young children. Moritz is over 
twenty years old, " 


A PEITNILESS ORPHAN. 11 

I thank you, madame/^ he murmured; ‘‘ indeed, I 
did not know — 

Oh! say no more, dear Hegebach. I only wanted to 
say to you — to beg of you — that you should not bear a 
grudge against the little creature, because she can not 
have your undoes money-bags. ‘ Man proposes, God dis- 
poses/ Who knows what the good of it is!'^ 

My cousin is to be married next month, madame.'’^ 

Well, let him marry,^^ was the reply. “ If the wished- 
for son comes to him, then the inheritance is his; we knew 
all that IjOng ago.’^ 

And the child he cried, breaking out in the first 
wild expression of pain, and violently tearing off his uni- 
form. ‘‘ If it had not been I, Lisa would still be living 
■ — if it had not been I, a son might have lain in the cradle! 
Who am I, that I should stretch out my hand to grasp at 
happiness?’^ 

Hegebach!" exclaimed Frau von Eatenow, reproach- 
fully. 

“A poor girl,^^ he muttered, with intense bitterness. 
“ What that means nowadays, in our position, you know 
as well as I. " 

Bad enough, truly! She can get along as well as other 
poor girls, however. She must learn to work; she has two 
.dear, healthful little hands and two bright eyes. What 
shall you call her?^^ she concluded, quietly. “Shall she 
have her mothe/s name — Elizabeth 

He nodded, and turned toward the window. 

“ Good-bye, Hegebach. Do you not wish to see the lit- 
tle girl once, at least?" 

He pressed his forehead against the window-pane, and 
motioned hastily in the negative. 

“ Well, I hope that this child may become a blessing to 
you, Hegebach — that you may yet thank Heaven upon 
your knees for this consolation which has been sent you. 
It might have been your recompense." 


12 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


She went into the next room, her face still flushed with 
excitement. 

“ Take up the child, Siethmann; we are going now;^^ 
and, followed by the old nurse, who carefully carried the 
well wrapped-up child, she got into the carriage. 

She did not have far to go; down the road, past the old 
Rath-haus, whose walls still bore traces of the Thirty 
Years^ War, in the shape of iron cannon-balls; through a 
couple of crooked streets and an ancient gate, then along 
by the town wall, over which rose the tops of fruit-trees in 
full bloom, along a lovely linden avenue, and straight up 
to a hospitably open trellised gate which allowed one a 
glimpse of the front of a high massive building, with a 
huge, peaked, tiled roof, overgrown with moss and gray 
with age. 

This large brick house, whose solid walls lay as if em- 
bedded in the lap of the gnarled lindens and alders which 
had again thrown a veil of light green leaves over their 
venerable heads, was flooded with golden sunshine as the 
carriage rolled into the court, as if to welcome the little 
baby upon its entrance into the house to which pity and 
sympathy had brought it to find a home. 

With a jolt, the carriage stopped before the imposing 
entrance, and a young, strikingly tall man, evidently in 
traveling-dress, sprung down the steps, impetuously tore 
open the door and kissed both hands of the lady who 
alighted. 

“ Mother, if I had had any idea,^^ he said; ‘‘ but it was 
impossible to attend the funeral in this dress. Ah! you 
merciful soul! But what is that?^^ — interrupting himself, 
and motioning to the woman who had now stepped out 
with the child in her arms. 

Lisa^s little child, Moritz. For Heaven^s sake! you will 
drop it!.'" 

But the young man with the fair, handsome face had 


A PENifILESS OKPHAN. 

already taken the little bundle in his arms and carried it 
into the house, followed by the two women. 

“ Good gracious he cried, when he had reached the 
pleasant living-room, looking at the tiny face as tenderly 
as a veritable foster-mother, “'how it looks, mother; so 
little and wrinkled. My poor, good Lisa,^^ and he hastily 
turned away to the window so that no one might see the 
tears in his eyes. “ There it is, mother,^ ^ he continued, 
“ if you had not persuaded Lisa when the gloomy captain 
came to woo her, she would have been living now!^^ 

“ Moritz, you are a monster replied Frau von Rate- 
now, and took the child from his arms. “ You ought to 
be ashamed of yourself! For whom should the girl have 
waited? The boy has tears in his eyes! I have no patience 
with this lamenting afterward with ‘ if ^ and ‘ but. ^ Lisa 
has fulfilled her destiny; let her rest.^^ 

“ And the child is to remain with us?^^ 

“ Really, Moritz, answered his mother. “ Where else 
should she go?^^ 

“ That is so good of you,^' he said, and threw his arm 
about the dignified woman, so good, as only you know 
how to be!^^ 

“ No nonsense, Moritz, you know I am not given to 
sentiment, was the quiet response; “ your father had that 
sbrt of a disposition and you have inherited it. What? 
You have paid out so much money again just to see your 
mother and your home. You bad boy, you!^^ 

She tried hard to make it appear as if she depreciated 
his praises, but she did not succeed; the mother love shone 
too powerfully in the eyes which gazed at her only son. 

“ You have struck it, mother, I had time enough and 
knew very well you would not be angry with me. 

‘‘ Such confidence, she said, smiling; “ how well you 
know me; but now we must look after the little one. 
What do you think,. Moritz, I am going to get your Aunt 
Lotte to take charge of her. 


14 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ What !^^ he exclaimed, astonished and still amused, 
“ tlfen I must be present! Give me the little lady, Fll 
^ carry her up-stairs — I must see that!^^ 

Aunt Lotte was the cousin and adopted sister of Frau 
von Eatenow and canoness of Z., but she always lived at 
the Burg, with the exception of eight weeks in the year which 
she was obliged to spend at Z., according to the rulers of the 
order, unless she wished to forfeit her. position. She was 
a quiet, not too intelligent creature, delicate, pale, and 
slightly given to literature, and consequently an entire con- 
trast to Frau von Eatenow, although they had spent their 
lives together from their earliest childhood. Aunt Lotte 
undertook every thing enthusiastically, she lived and moved 
in poetry, in higher spheres “ high above all earthly dust.” 
She read everything that fell into her hands, and the more 
affecting and heart-rending the story, the better she liked 
it. She knew “ Die bezauberte Eose ” by heart, from the 
beginning to the end, and when she began the last verse, 
her emotion had reached the highest pitch. 

“ Und mir ist nichts aus finer zeit geblieben 
Als nur dies Lied, mein Leiden und mein Lieben.” 

This was only sighed, not spoken. 

Fate had once shown her a white ticket in the lottery 
of life, but she had drawn a black one; she had ‘‘ a grave 
in her heart, as she was in the habit of assuring her friends. 

Notwithstanding all this,, the two had always lived hap- 
pily together. When the practical cousin married Herr von 
Eatenow Lotte remained with the lonely parents, and after 
their death she came to the Burg and took possession of a 
couple of pleasant rooms in an upper story of the roomy 
house, in which everything was so old-maidenishly neat, 
people were half afraid to step on the polished wax floor. 

A purring cat lay on the window-bench behind the 
snowy white curtains, the brass doors of the porcelain stove 
shone like pure gold, a spinning-wheel, decorated with 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


15 


gorgeous bows, stood in the corner by the sofa, and the 
cabinet was crammed full of various kinds of little figures 
of by-gone times, the chief of which was a Chinaman of 
Meissen ware, who could wag his head for hours at a time. 
It was immensely valuable, as Aunt Lottie assured those 
who admired it. She was sitting by the window, reading 
a Psalm; she wore a black gown and black silk apron, for 
she had sincerely loved the young Frau von Hegebach. 

Scarcely a year ago, in this very room, the girl, weeping 
and trembling, had laid her hand in that of her elderly 
fiance, whom she had met wliile paying a visit at the 
Burg, as the Von Eatenow manor-house was called. They 
had played whist together and he had been disagreeable be- 
cause she had made a mistake. A week later his trailing 
sword clattered over the staircase at the Burg; he had 
come courting, “ en grande tenue,*^ For two hours he sat 
in the drawing-room, (looking at Lisa, who finally fled in 
fear and trembling), then laid his suit before Frau von 
Eatenow, who at last said, Wait, Hegebach, I will speak 
to the little maiden. She went up to Aunt Letters sit- 
ting-room, where the little one, weeping and frightened, 
had sunk in a heap on the dais, while Aunt Lotte was try- 
ing in vain to calm the excited nerves with the aid of eau- 
de-Cologne and valerian drops; for this wooing had been 
to her like a thunder-bolt out of a clear sky. After an- 
other hour she was engaged, but before that the deep voice 
of the hostess might have been heard as far off as the first 
floor; indeed, Moritz, who was then at home for a visi|, 
always maintained that he distinctly heard such words as 
these — “proper match — “pretensions^^ — “wait for 
what?^^ 

How Moritz von Eatenow carried the little daughter into 
the room in which the mother had struggled and combated, 
and without a word laid her in Aunt Letters lap. 

“ There, auntie, now you have got something for puss 
to be jealous of. 


16 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“Merciful Heaven she exclaimed, and her eyes 
glanced from the child through the cheerful room and re- 
mained fixed upon the pale, earnest face of Frau von Kate- 
now. 

“ You have the most time, Lotte; you take the child; I 
have brought her nurse, old Siethmann, with me; you shall 
have as little trouble as possible. It could not be left with 
him — for it has not yet learned to smoke cigars — and you 
know I could not undertake the care, with the housekeep- 
ing."" 

During the conversation, the delicate hands of the maid- 
en lady had been laid on the little bundle; she did not 
speak, she could not, her face was drawn with weeping, but 
she nodded her acquiescence so energetically, as she fer- 
vently wiped her eyes, that her answer was well understood. 

Then at his mother ^s desire, Moritz moved the cabinet 
aside, disclosing a door, which, when it was opened gave a 
glimpse of a pretty blue-papered bedroom, which had 
always been used as a guest chamber, but was now to be- 
come the nurseryl 

Moritz carried the cradle upstairs, and as it had grown 
dark Aunt Lotte sat down with her knitting, and young 
Herr von Ratenow settled himself on a stool at her feet. 
While she gently rocked the cradle, they talked earnestly 
together in subdued tones about the young mother, and 
were so absorbed in their conversation that neither of them 
perceived the head of Frau von Ratenow as she peered 
tlipugh ther doon at the strange pair. 

The gray cat had jumped up into the cradle and was 
washing her paw. 

“ A wonderful boy,"^ murmured his mother, as she went 
down the stairs, “ a man with the heart of a child — exactly 
like his father — naturally, he doesnT get it from me,^^ and 
she pulled the keys out of her belt with so much energy 
that the jingling was heard by the maids in the kitchen, who 
were gossiping with each other over the events of the day. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAIT. 17 

and warned them to hurry to their work, as madame un- 
derstocfti no jokes. 


OHAPTEE IL 

So the child grew, in the old house shaded by the lin- 
dens, the house which was built from the ruins and over the 
foundations of an old castle which had been burned by the 
Swedes in the Thirty Years War. A solid, giant-hke tower 
still stood in the garden, and around it a wall and a moat 
which in the spring time was one mass of blue violets; and 
there was still the deep old well and a dungeon, besides 
many a gruesome tale of apparitions which had appeared in 
the old days. Eor a long time now the place had been in 
the possession of the Von Eatenows, and had come to them 
first through a marriage; a Eatenow had, many years be- 
fore, wedded a Burgsdorf, the last of her race. 

When the clear eyes of the child looked from the win- 
dows, they beheld the immense court with its stables and 
barns, and far off the irregular roofs and high towers of 
the town. Near the Eath-haus tower, under a tall, 
peaked gable roof there lived a lonely man, and when any 
one asked the two-year-old baby, Who lives over yonder?^’ 
she would take her finger out of her mouth, point across, 
and answer with brightening eyes “ Papa!^^ 

Truly, papa— the father who hardly knew his child, who 
only occasionally paid a duty visit at the Burg and looked 
at the little golden head as gloomily as if he had been pre- 
sented with a dunning letter. Nevertheless the child 
shouted in her gayest tones as she ran to meet him, seizing 
his bright buttons wishfully. 

There must have been something in the little heart that 
drew it toward the silent embittered man without the least 
misgiving. She was a strikingly beautiful child, the [dar- 
ling of the whole house, the heart and soul' of Aunt Lotte, 
the gray cat and tall Moritz. Only with Aunt Eatengw 


18 


A PENJq-ILESS OEPHAN. 


was she shy: the blooming face would grow white as wax 
beneath a condemning look from those clear eyes. She 
sprung and ran just as quickly to pick up anything which 
Aunt Ratenow had dropped, but she did not do it with such 
smiling readiness, even though the thanks were no less 
kindly spoken. 

“Now she must soon go to school," said Frau von 
Ratenow one day as she sat in the window, and with her 
eyes followed the child, who, with flying curls, ran across 
the court and disappeared in the cow-stable, where she was 
accustomed to go every afternoon for warm milk; “ she 
will be five years old in April,^^ and she pushed her spec- 
tacles, which she had worn for two years, up on her fore- 
head, that she might see better. 

“ To school asked Moritz, at home for the Easter hol- 
idays, and who was walking up and down through the room, 
in gray summer attire: he was as tall as a giant, with a 
saucy mustache hiding his upper lip and as handsome as 
ever. “ To school?" he asked, standing before his mother. 

Frau von Ratenow looked at him. 

“ Of course I know, mother dear, that she must learn to 
read and write, but why not here at home? There are 
plenty of governesses. " 

The work sunk in her lap, and her clear eyes were filled 
with astonishment. 

“ Moritz, I do not see how you can think of such a 
thing! If I had had a daughter of my own, perhaps — I 
say ‘ perhaps ^ — I might have chosen that exclusive man- 
ner of educating her. This cliild would only be spoiled by 
it; and — Heaven forgive us! — she will be that soon 
enough.^' 

“ Then must the little creature paddle all that- long way 
to school through every kind of wind and weather? At 
least, mother, let her be driven in, in winter. 

“ As if I were a fool, Moritz," she responded, quietly. 
“If you wish to provide a carriage for her later, it is 


A PEJTITILESS OKPHAK. 


19 


nothing to me. From April on Elsie will go to school; 
what is it anyway; down the avenue, through the Stein- 
thor, into the Rosengasse, and— she is there. 

“ It is for you to decide, mother. 

“ Right, my son; and now let us speak of your own 
plans; when you come back in the autumn from your 
journey to Vienna and the Tyrol are we to rule here to- 
gether? 

He laughed, and kissed the hand which she held out to 
him. 

“ I hope you don^t yet think of marrying?’^ she said 
suddenly, and looked at the young man searchingly. 

“ Yes, mother, he replied, coming toward her, “ I will 
confess to you, frankly. I — have thought of it.'^^ 

You fledgeling! but it will not amount to much! 
Whom have you chosen, then, child ?^^ 

“ An old flame, mother dear; but do not be uneasy, she 
is only just going to town to boarding-school.^^ 

‘‘Ah! boarding-school? What will she gain there, 
Moritz? ' She will learn to be pale and white; to be a nerv- 
ous doll, who can never become a strong wife and mother; 
and as for what she will forget, you have probably not re- 
flected upon that? All taste for a quiet, family life goes — 
pfui — out of the window. You should not let her go, 
Moritz, if you wish to have any good of her. 

Moritz certainly looked perplexed for a moment. That 
his mother should in an instant comprehend the case struck 
him and pleased him at the same time. He walked 
through the room a couple of times with his hands behind 
his back. In the meanwhile Frau von Ratenow knitted 
calmly on her stocking, looking out into the court from 
time to time. She always sat there in the afternoon be- 
tween four and six o^clock; aside from this she allowed 
herself little rest. 

“ Hegebach is going to leave the army, Moritz; did you 
know it?^^ she asked after awhile. 


20 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ It is the best thing for him, he will never get any fur- 
ther/^ replied her son; ‘‘ he is always quarreling with his 
superior officers. 

“ But the small pension 
Well! he can live upon it, mother. 

‘‘ He! he! But his daughter? rang out, impatiently. 
Oh, mother!^' 

“ Gracious! yes, Moritz. You talk of marrying! When 
you have half a dozen children where shall I get the money 
for Elsie?” She had spoken facetiously, and neither of 
them could help laughing. 

“You dearest mother!” he exclaimed, still laughing, 
and kissed her lips. 

“ Ho; joking aside,^^ she protested, defending herself, “ I 
shall look after Elsie, you need not fear that I will only 
half do the thing. She must study hard; I think she will 
become a governess; and as soon as she is ten years old I 

shall take her to D ; that will be the best thing for 

her; don^t you think so, Moritz?” 

At this moment the door was softly unlatched and a 
little head with hair like shining gold peered into the 
room; a pair of big brown eyes looked out of the rosy, 
smiling face^ and a little voice that was clear as a lark^s 
pleaded, “ Moritz, Moritz, will you come into the garden? 
There is a squirrel in the chestnut-tree. ” 

“ Come here, Elsie,” called the young man; and as the 
little one sprung toward him he took her up in his arms as 
if she were a doll and carried her to his mother. 

“Look at her, mother,’^ he entreated, in a singularly 
tender tone. 

She looked at the innocent, childish face and then 
glanced up at him questioningly. 

“ How run along, Elsie, I will come in a moment,” and 
the fair young giaut carefully opened the door, that the lit- 
tle creature might run out. 

“ IsnT she as fresh as a rose-bud, so bright and merry ?’^ 


A PEl^KILESS ORPHAK. 


21 


he said as he came back. “ And will you shut her up in a 
gloomy school-room in the sweetest part of her girlhood, 
where she would only pine away with the hard work? See, 
mother, I can not rest for thinking of it; what a world of 
tears and sleepless nights, of buried hopes and bitter re- 
nunciations are summed up in that one expression, ‘ She 
must be a governess!^ Oh! mother, don^t allow it, don^t 
imprison her, poor little girl!’^ 

“ Oh, Moritz, how you do go on! it is hardly to be be- 
lieved,^^ responded Frau von Ratenow impatiently, and 
turning slightly pale, ‘‘ as if I were on the point of doing 
the child a great wrong. Give her an allowance, if you 
are able. Do you know that she has nothing besides her 
mother’s three hundred thalers and a few little trinkets? 
Hegebach will leave nothing but debts behind him when . 
he closes his eyes, and what then? Besides, it is still far 
off, Moritz; and you don’t need to pity your rose-bud be- 
forehand. I will forgive you for the comparison, my dear 
boy, as you are in love. What is that? She is certainly a 
rose-bud also,” and with these words she threw her knit- 
ting energetically into her baskei and hurried out of the 
room. Immediately afterward her son heard her "resonant 
voice sounding from the cellar, ‘‘ I will show you that it 
can be done. Where there is a will, there is a way!” 

Late in the evening Moritz von Ratenow knocked at the 
door of his mother’s sleeping-room. 

“ I heard you ride into the court,” she called. “ Come 
in. Where have you been?” 

He crossed the threshold and stepped cautiously up to 
the canopied bed. The full moon shone through the 
arched window, making every object distinct in the famil- 
iar old room. How long it was since he - had been here! 
There hung his father’s portrait over the bureau, and 
below it his likeness as a boy; here stood the old cabinet in 
which the mother preserved all her relics — her bridal- 
wreath, and his first little cap; his father’s spurs and 


22 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAH. 


sword, and the last bunch of field fiowers which he had 
gathered for her the day before his death. And here was 
still the delicate fragrance of lavender; it seemed to him 
for an instant as if he were again a little boy, and had 
come to his mother to confess some childish folly. 

“ What is it, my boyr^^ she asked in her soft Bremen 
dialect. “ Where have you been?^^ 

He sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed and took 
her hand. “ Guess, he said, hesitatingly. “ But no, 
you could not guess. I have been to Teesfeld at — my 
father-in-law^ s.^^ 

“ Oh! you wretched man!^^ exclaimed Frau von Bate- 
now. 

It was only on account of the boarding-school, mother. 
I said to him that I loved Frieda and she loved me, and 
if Herr von Teesfeld had no objection to our marrying, 
then — 

‘‘ And he had no objections? Naturally she inquired 
with an imperceptible tinge of pride. 

“ Heaven forbid, mother! No, in a word, Frieda shall 
leave the boarding-sch^l.^^ 

“ How old is she then, Moritz?^ ^ 

“ Sixteen years and a half. Frau von Teesfeld insisted 
that we should wait four years. 

“ Very sensible, Moritz.-’^ 

“ Are you contented, then, mother? he asked, ten- 
derly. 

“Ah! what good would it do me to oppose it? She 
comes of a good famil}^, Moritz; the connection is suitable, 
and if she takes after her father she will be an honest 
woman. 

She stopped as if she were meditating. 

“ I have been too thoughtless; if I had had any idea that 
the child Was to be my daughter-in-law — yet it seems as if 
her father had once said to me, ‘ Frieda has just such a 
changeable little head as her mother’s.^ Precisely! I 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


23 


recollect it distinctly. Now understand, if it is to be so, 
keep a tight rein from the first, since you will have much 
to learn. 

He laughed. “ She is fascinating, mother, just because 
she is such a witch. 

There is nothing to laugh at, Moritz, she complained* 
“But now go to bed. To-morrow I will drive over to 
Teesfeld. As your mother I must try to be agreeable to 
her, mustn^’t and she stroked his fair hair caressingly. 
“Go to bed now, donH gaze at the moon any more to- 
night, do you hear, Moritz?’^ 

After he was gone she sat up in bed for a long time with 
folded hands. “ I am glad that he is so resolute, she 
said at last, under her breath, ‘ ‘ when his father wooed me 
he stirred up the whole family; it was the talk of the 
county. The boy knows what he wants — he gets that 
from me!^^ 


CHAPTER III. 

The door of the old stucco house, whose windows gazed 
so wearily upon the unchanging monotony of the narrow 
street, was softly unlatched and the slight figure of a little 
girl about ten years of age passed quickly in. The child 
wore a simple gray woolen frock and a brown straw hat 
with brown ribbons, under which two heavy braids of fair 
hair were conspicuous. In one hand she held carefully a 
basket filled with pears and grapes as she ran quickly and, 
in spite of the little thick boots, almost noiselessly, up the 
wooden stairs and tapped at a door at the top. 

“ Come in,^^ called a maiPs voice; and the next moment 
Elsie von Hegebach stood before her father in the room, 
which was blue with tobacco smoke. 

The man had grown very old, and looked neglected in 
the faded dressing-gown which he had taken to wearing 
since he had been pensioned. He had grown yellow, and 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


U 

every bitter feature of bis :(ace had become more domineer- 
ing; but in spite of everything the rosy cheek of the child 
was pressed confidingly against her father^s. 

“ Papa, how do you feel?^^ she inquired, hastily setting 
the basket on the table and throwing her arms around his 
neck. 

‘‘ Don^t ask me such a question,^ ^ was the ill-humored 
reply. 

A shadow passed over the child ^s smiling countenance. 
‘‘ Papa, may I stay with you a little while?^^ she begged, 
“ or are you going to the club?^"’ 

“ You know very well that I am going to the club; but 
Siethmann is in the other room. " 

‘‘Dear papa — the corners of the little rosy mouth 
were drawn down, but the tears were bravely suppressed — 
“ I will go away directly; but you know I must say ‘ good- 
bye ^ to-day — to-morrow I am going to D . ^ ' 

“ To-morrow he asked, looking up from his news- 
paper, “ when do you start 

“ Prau Cramm said that I must be at her house at seven 
o^clock in the morning. Aunt Eatenow asked Prau 

Cramm to take me with her. Annie is coming to D 

too, because Moritz's wedding is to-day, and they are all 
in Teesfeld, and nobody can go with me, so — " 

“Yes, yes," he interrupted, impatiently, “it is a very 
good arrangement; the term probably begins day after to- 
morrow?" 

“Yes, papa! Shall I read the newspaper a little to 
you, papa?" 

“ Thank you, no! Well, I hope you will have a pleas- 
ant journey, Elsie; be a good girl!" he held his hand out 
to her, and turned again to his paper. The child stood 
perfectly motionless, her pallid lips moved gently, but no 
word crossed them, only gradually the sweet light in her 
eyes gave place to an expression of utter amazement. She 
turned around and went out of the room. “ Elsie!" 


A PEKI^ILESS OEPHAK. 


^5 


sounded behind her; she started with fear. Give that 
trash to Siethmann, I don^t eat such tilings,^' and he 
pointed to the dainty little basket. 

She threw her suddenly upon her knees before the 
morose, ill-natured man. “ Papa! papa!^^ she cried, 
‘‘ why don^t you love me? Why don^t you ever speak so 
kindly to me as Annie’s father does to her?” 

Her whole body trembled; she clung to him in passion- 
ate grief with her blonde head against him and burst into 
sobs. 

‘‘Good heavens, Elsie, get up,” exclaimed old Sieth- 
mann, who had come in on hearing the cry, and she drew 
the half struggling child up into her arms, at the same 
time casting a severe look at the major. He had sprung 
up and was pacing to and fro through the room in nervous 
excitement. 

“What is the matter with you?” he asked, half-anx- 
ious, half-provoked, “ has any one scolded you? What is 
it? Tell me? If you are ill, Siethmann shall go with you 
and put you to bed. ” 

“ I am not ill,” she answered, softly. “ Good-bye, 
papa!” 

And, hastily drying her eyes, she went out of the room 
into the one which had once been her mother’s, but which 
Siethmann had occupied since she had been the major’s 
housekeeper. 

The child sat quietly by the window and looked into the 
neglected garden. She had been altogether too sad for a 
couple of weeks now. Since Aunt Eatenow had sent 
her one day to come to her room, and had said to her- 
deed, what had she said? 

“ Elsie,” she had begun, stroking the child’s sc ' 
hair, “ you are ten years old, and a sensible little 
and now it is time for me to talk with you about s< 
ous matters. See, everybody who wishes to be h 
make himself of some use in the world, and y( 


I 


26 


A PENJTIL’ESS ORPHAN. 


do that in the future, also; do not you? There are many 
who, so to speak, are born with a silver spoon in the 
mouth, and through all the days of their lives have no care, 
are not obliged to ask. What shall we eat; what shall we 
drink; wherewithal shall we be clofched? Others, during 
their whole existence, must do nothing but try to answer 
^ these questions, and that is far from being the worst of it; 
for it says in the Bible that ‘ their strength is but labor 
and sorrow. ^ 

“ Your father, Elsie, is a lonely, sick man, who has had 
much trouble in his life, and he is a poor man; he can not 
give you a silver spoon; but, instead of that, God gave you 
a clear intellect and a strong, healthy body. It will be 
easy for you to answer the questions about which I spoke 
just now if you have an honest desire to do so. 

“ I want to impress it upon you, Elsie, to be diligent, 
and to work faithfully to pass the examinations and be 
fitted for a governess. That is almost the only path open 
to a young lady in which she can make her own way in the 
world. 

It seemed to the child as if a thick, dark veil had been 
suddenly thrown over all the brightness of her life. The 
gray school-room appeared before her eyes with its stifling 
air, the windows through which a sunbeam so rarely fell, 
and with its walls ready to crush her to death. And she 
was to be imprisoned there — she, who so dearly loved the 
flowers, the air, and the sunshine — imprisoned, not till she 
grew up; no, but forever, forever! It was an impossibility! 

‘‘ "Well, Elsie, have you no inclination for it?^^ 

"'he not only shook her head, her whole body shuddered 
horror. 

'hen you will remain a little know-nothing. You will 
ething like Siethmann, and a person who has 
nothing is treated accordingly. 

7hy must I?’^ she had cried out. “ All the other 
/ donH have to do it;^^ and the big brown eyes » 


-I 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


27 


looked into the serious face of the stately woman as though 
they were begging for the explanation of an incomprehen- 
sible enigma. 

“Oh! many must do it, Elsie, and you too. It is my 
duty so to educate you that you may be independent. Now 
you may go. You know that you must be obedient, Elsie, 
even though you do not yet understand the reason for it.^^ 

After that she had gone to Aunt Lotte, pale, and with 
quickened breath. 

“ I must go away, auntie!’^ 

She was not able to say any more then. She glanced 
around the familiar room, and then fastened her eyes upon 
her good old friend. There she saw tears falling upon the 
fine wrinkles and lines of the face, and dropping on the 
cap-ribbons, and she was so frightened that she could not 
cry. 

She must go away for such an endless time — away from 
the home of her childhood, from the shady garden, from 
Moritz — away from all! 

Yesterday, weeping. Aunt Lotte had packed her box, 
and she had said “ Good-bye to her, to Aunt Katenow, and 
to dear, dear Moritz; for in the afternoon they had all gone 
to Teesfeld for the wedding eve. Aunt Lotte had even 
taken her gray silk gown from the wardrobe, and to that 
extent had mounted Pegasus for the occasion. Elsie knew 
the marriage poem by heart; it bore some resemblance to 
“ Die Bezauberte Eose,^^ and dwelt largely upon “ Cu- 
pid,^ ^ “ chains of roses,^^ and “ lovers enchantment.^^ Oh! 
to be at a wedding! it must be glorious. She wanted so 
much to go with them, but Aunt Katenow would not al- 
low it on account of this journey to school. 

“ Why do you want to go, Elsie?^^ she said. “ At such 
a time children are only in the way.^^ 

Now she had been alone all day long, even puss had 
gone on a promenade over the roofs. What good had it 


28 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


done her that at noon the housekeeper had brought her a 
glass of wine and a piece of cake for luncheon? 

“ From Herr Moritz, Elsie. He charged me not to for- 
get it/^ she explained. 

For the first time she felt the pain of loneliness, the 
deep, ardent longing for a heart that was wholly and en- 
tirely her own and to which she had an inviolable claim; 
and so she had run to her father. 

Now she sprung up suddenly; she could not bear it any 
longer in the close, uncomfortable, deserted-looking room; 
it was full of the odor of bad coffee; there were spots of oil 
upon the fioor, and on the wall hung the wardrobe of the 
old housekeeper. The simple mahogany furniture was 
worn, and the sofa dilapidated from moth-holes and hard 
usage. She ran down the stairs as if she were pursued, 
hurried through a couple of streets, and did not once stop 
till she stood, all out of breath, by the ivy-covered grave of 
the mother whom she had never known. 

The September day was drawing to an end, dark clouds 
had settled down in the west, and the evening wind cooled 
the tearful little face. 

‘‘ My mamma, she said, in a whisper; there was an in- 
describable sound of woe in those two words, and she sunk 
down and pressed her cheek against the simple cross. 

She still sat there> when the grave-digger^ s wife came 
over, and kindly told her that she must go now; the 
church-yard would be closed directly. 

She quickly picked up a couple of ivy-leaves before she 
left the grave. 

And then — until late in the night — she stood at Aunt 
Lotte^s window, and listened to the slmuts and songs of 
the men and maids who drank punch in the servants’ hall, 
and celebrated their master’s marriage. 

The following morning, about eight o’clock, as the sun 
with great difficulty struggled through the clouds, he saw 
a white, childish face that looked with great, questioning 


A PEKifILESS ORPHAN. 


29 


eyes out of the window of a carriage that was rolling along 
a country road. 

In the inside sat a plump, blooming woman in a black 
velvet mantle, and a well-dressed little man; while between 
them they had their flaxen-haired, flat-nosed daughter 

whom they were taking to the renowned institute at J) 

for a year or two. 

Each of the parents held one of the little hands, and it 
could easily be seen in the mother^s eyes how bitterly she 
had wept. 

Elsie sat alone on the back seat, close to a lot of pack- 
ages, and before the child^s spirit was stretched out a dark 
and dreary vision of the unknown life in which the httle 
feet were taking their first steps to-day. 


OHAPTEE lY. 

Eight years had rolled away since that time, and not 
without leaving traces upon the people in the little town 
in the Prussian province of the Mark. 

Major von Hegebach still sat smoking and reading in 
his uncomfortable room in the Eosengasse, and the old 
Siethmann still made her detestable coflee; but the major 
no longer went to the club so regularly as of old; he had 
grown lame, and it hurt him to walk; the fatal gout had 
taken away the one distraction which he had had until now, 
and his temper was not at all improved by it. 

Old Siethmann had a harder time than formerly, but 
she did not perceive it; for she had grown duller than 
ever, and aside from her coflee-pot there was hardly any- 
thing which interested her in the whole world, perhaps 
with the exception of Elsie. 

Eegularly every four weeks a letter had lain on the old 
man's desk; the handwriting had changed by degrees from 
a child's awkward attempts, to a fine, elegant, but not 
characterless woman's hand. 


30 


A PENNILESS OBPHAN. 


He had only answered once, and that was when Elsie 
was confirmed, and even then the letter had lain in a box 
with a plain necklace of' glowing garnets — the one orna- 
ment which her dead mother had possessed. 

Thereupon there had come a deeply grateful letter, with 
the childish promise always to try to be an obedient daugh- 
ter to the beloved father. 

How, to-day, another little letter lay before him. 

“ My dear, dear Papa, — You shall be the first to 
know that I have passed the examination at the head of 
the class and am Humber 1. The principal first sent for 
me, and told me. I am so glad and so happy about it, 
and all the hard work is forgotten. I am coming now in a 
few days, dear papa, and I am so rejoiced in the thought 
of seeing you again. 

‘‘ Your loving daughter, 

‘‘ Elsie.^^ 

He had read the letter again and again, with his face 
growing more and more serious. 

But while he was yet meditating two old hands were 
busily occupied at the Burg adorning the room for her 
darling^s home-coming. 

Aunt Lotte and Aunt Eatenow had received this same 
joyful news by the second mail, and the former had imme- 
diately begun to arrange the nursery for the young girl, 
who, of course, would come back to her bid room. Down- 
stairs, in Erau von Katenow^s living-room, there had been 
little change in the course of the years, only she herself had 
grown slightly more corpulent, and her face showed a trifle 
more plainly the expression of an inflexible will, and alert, 
energetic readiness. 

And yet there was something new here that gave to the 
comfortable room, with its thick, soft carpet, its heavy 
blue curtains, and the glittering brass ornaments, an inde- 
scribably cozy, home-like air. 


A PEKNILESS 0RPHAI3'. 


31 


Three children were playing on the floor before the fire- 
place in which an autumn fire was blazing — a boy and two 
girls; two fair-haired little maidens, with rosy complex- 
ions and an undeniable resemblance to their father, and a 
dark-eyed boy, the youngest of all. There was such shout- 
ing and tittering there as would have made the ears of any 
one but a grandmother ache. 

Frau von Katenow, however, did not appear to hear it; 
she had just been reading a letter, had let it drop, and 
then had taken it up and read it again. 

“ Lulu!^^ she called, “ go and bring your papa to me.^’ 

The eldest, a slender maiden of five years, sprung up 
and ran quickly out of the room. A moment afterward, a 
small, infinitely elegant figure, dressed in black, pushed 
aside the blue portiere, and, strolling into the room, was 
greeted by the children with loud cries of “ Mamma! mam- 
ma 

Bless your little hearts!” she said, kissing them; and 
then turning to Frau von Eatenow with both animation 
and curiosity, “ Moritz will be here directly, mamma. 
What is it, then?” 

‘^Is your name ‘Moritz,'’ little inquisitive one?^^ she 
questioned, not unkindly, but at the same time not very 
cordially. 

But the little creature did not allow herself to be discour- 
aged; breaking into a laugh, she wound her arms around 
the old lady’s neck. 

“ Oh, mamma, you know very well that I am frightfully 
curious; but, anyway, it is not a question of state secrets? 
Please, please let me stay!” 

“ Frieda! I wonder if you will ever have any sense! 
Will you always remain a child? But that is only nat- 
ural, when Moritz humors you in everything.” 

She was, however, created to be petted, this fascinating 
little creature, with the exquisite figure, the refined oval 
face, the dark blue eyes under long black lashes, and the 


32 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


glossy blue-black hair which, simply arranged, allowed the 
beautiful shape of her head to be seen. ISTo wonder that 
the ‘‘ boy,^^ as his mother called him, was still as deeply in 
love as on his wedding-day! 

Well, of course/^ he said, on coming in, as if he were 
angry, but with brightening eyes, “ here she is again, just 
to find out what it is all about 

“ I don^t know yet, anyway, Moritz. 

“ That is certainly very sad, little wife. Be quiet, you 
youngsters!’^ he called, covering up his ears. “ Who can 
hear a word? Run along quickly to Karoline.” 

In the meantime Frau von Ratenow had given the let- 
ter to her son. 

‘‘ Elsie has passed her examination, and comes on Tues- 
day,” she observed. 

“ Oh, really?” exclaimed the young man, rejoiced. 
‘‘ Thank goodness! She will be glad to turn her back on 
the school-room.” 

I only wanted to ask you, Moritz, what is to be done 
with her now?” 

His good, honest eyes were filled with astonishment. 

“ Nothing at all for the present, mother. I think the 
poor thing ought to have a good rest. She must certainly 
need a little change and recreation.” 

Frau von Ratenow nodded. 

“ Very well; but you will only make the return to her 
father’s house so much the harder for her.” 

“ Yes, Moritz, you will only spoil her by it,” agreed the 
young wife. 

‘‘ Heavens! the poor child! What can she do with the 
old bear?” fell compassionately from the man’s lips. 

“It is her duty to take care of her father; the man is 
certainly failing, Moritz, and Siethmann grows older and 
more untidy every day. ' 

“ To be sure you are right, mother,” he interrupted, 

but not just yet; we have not had time enough to consider 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


33 


that. The house must, at the least, be put in order so 
that it may be a fit abode for human beings; if I had 
thought of it, it might have been done long ago, but as it 
now is, I will not take the girl there. She will stay here 
the first fortnight, so don't say anything against it." 

“ So far as that point we are agreed," said the old lady. 

“ And we have decided for the best, mother!" 

There was a short pause during which only the clicking 
of the knitting-needles was heard. 

“ It is two years to-day since the Bennewitzer met with 
that calamity with his sons," the young man began, at 
last, “ it is terrible to lose two children at once." 

“It is horrible!" assented the young wife: “ I do not 
yet understand how it could happen. " 

“ Very simply, Frieda. The two boys went out sailing 
alone on the Elbe; a sudden gust of wind must have over- 
turned the boat; the bodies were not found until the fol- 
lowing day. " 

“Yes, that is hard," observed Frau von Eatenow and 
she involuntarily wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. 
“It is just four years since his wife died!" She let her 
hands drop suddenly into her lap and gazed before her 
meditatively; finally she said, with her face flushing 
deeply: “ ISTow if only Elsie could— the man is rich and is 
all alone — " 

“ Indeed, the thought has also passed through my 
mind," returned Moritz; “ nevertheless, as daughters are 
absolutely cut oif from the inheritance, according to the 
will of the dead uncle, and as the Bennewitzer is by no 
means an old man, one can hardly doubt that he will marry 
again, and — " 

“ The beggar's bread always falls out of his pocket; it is 
an old story, my boy, " interrupted Frau von Ratenow, who 
had fully recovered her balance; “ I must invite him here 
some time : I found his card only a little while ago. " 

“ Do you know the Bennewitzer Hegebach very well, 

2 


34 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


mamma? asked the younger woman. “ I have never 
cared much for him myself, but my sister Lili likes him 
immensely/^ she prattled on; ‘‘ he is a distinguished-look- 
ing man and certainly bears no resemblance to his cousin; 
further than that I can not say.'’^ 

Frau von Ratenow made no reply. 

“ Moritz/^ she asked, “ how are the roads to-day?^’ 

“ Good and hard, mother, the rain scarcely penetrated 
two inches.^’ 

“ Then I beg that you will excuse me, I am going out. ’’ 

She arose and, bowing pleasantly to the young couple, 
went to her adjoining bedroom. 

“ Where are you going, mother ?^^ asked Moritz. 

“ Mamma, in a quarter of an hour I am to drive to Frau 
von Keyser^s!^^ called Frieda, at the door, “ if you could 
wait so long?^^ 

“ Thank you, no, children, I prefer to walk,^^ was her 
answer; but in reply to their question “ Where to?’^ they 
heard nothing. 

It had already grown dark as Frau von Ratenow re- 
turned, and, walking up the stairs, knocked at Aunt 
Letters door, then immediately entered. 

The old lady sat at the window and was looking out 
into the autumnal garden; she had laid her book and knit- 
ting aside as she could no longer see in the twilight. 

No, Lotte, it is hardly credible!'^ said Frau von Rate- 
now, sitting down on the first chftiir she came to, as if out 
of breath. 

Aunt Lotte was alarmed, her cousin so seldom lost her 
calm, reserved self-control. 

“ My dear Ratenow! for Heaven’s sake what has hap- 
pened?” she questioned, stepping down from the dais. 

No, Lotte! See! I have come to you because I can 
not talk it over with Moritz. What has happened? Now, 
you know that Elsie is coming the day after to-morrow; 
Moritz and I had different views about her future. I said 


^ PEJS'HILESS OEPHAK. 


35 


she ought to go to her father; he maintained that would be 
a cruelty, she ought to come here/^ 

And Frieda?^’ Aunt Lotte ventured to interrupt. 

“ Frieda? Frieda is not taken into consideration,^^ she 
responded with a contemptuous accent. “ She says one 
time sOy and another time so, as it suits her for the moment; 
she has no judgment and never did have any. If she had 
wished to have theatricals and any one were lacking for a 
part for which Elsie was suited, she would have said, ‘ Oh! 
mamma, don^t let her go to the quarrelsome old father!^ 
and if we had been, accidentally, thirteen at the table, she 
would doubtless have declared, ‘Ah! yes, mamma, the 
child belongs to her father!' only on account of the omi- 
nous number." 

Frau von Eatenow was silent for a moment. 

“ In short," she continued, while she hurriedly unfast- 
ened her heavy silk mantle, “ I set out and went to Hege- 
bach; I hoped that he would himself feel the desire to take 
the child home, so that there might still be a little light 
upon his old days; and what do you think, Lotte?" she 
cried, with raised voice and letting her hands fall heavily 
upon the table. “ He does not want her! Did you ever, 
except in your silly novels, find a father who would not re- 
ceive his own child into his house? He was regularly 
vehement at the last, his whole body trembled, he talked of 
a young girl with her hundred thousand demands from life, 
and that he only longed for one thing now, for quiet, 
quiet, quiet!" 

“ But dear Eatenow, you vex yourself more than is nec- 
essary; he has always been so." 

“ For pity’s sake," said the irritated woman, flying into 
a passion, “ a body shall not be offended at that! he dem- 
onstrated to me minutely that he had no use for such an 
article of luxury as a grown-up daughter: he could hardly 
afford necessaries: he had to pay off something every month 
on the old debts which he incurred when he was a lieuten- 


36 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


ant — who would undertake that after his death? He could 
have done no more toward her education than to give the 
three hundred thalers which Lisa brought to him; Elsie 
could now earn something with her learning — how many 
were obliged to do that — and so on/^ 

The poor girl! the poor girl!^^ wailed^ Aunt Lotte, 
wiping her eyes. 

‘‘ I told him my opinion, Lotte, continued the excited 
woman, “ and you know my words are not always steeped 
in honey. 

Aunt Lotte remained silent; she knew it only too well. 
At the last he grew calm and pale; but what good did 
it do? I meant well by him, but no one can compel an- 
other to be happy — 

“ And now?’^ 

“Ah! Now Moritz has his way,^^ was answered, with 
irritation. 

“ Oh, leave it alone, cousin, said Aunt Lotte, appeas- 
ingly, her heart secretly exulting that her darling was com- 
ing back; “ let it be, who knows how it will end, see — 

“ I know well enough, Lotte, broke in Frau von Eate- 
now; “ it will be this way, a life of brilliant gayety — a neg- 
lect of everything seirous, as is unfortunately the fashion 
with us now — and some day she will be obliged to go to work, 
for the ‘ must ^ will come, depend upon it, and perhaps be- 
fore very long : but by that time she will have forgotten 
how to reconcile herself to it and to submit. 

“Ah! that is all in God^s hands, cousin! She might 
marry. 

“ Will you provide her with a dowry, Charlotte?’^ she 
asked, scornfully, “ if so, donT make it too small. 

“Oh! this prose,^^ groaned Aunt Lotte, offended. 

“ With your poetry you can not bake a single loaf nor 
lay the table even once. The stomach is there, my good 
child, and one feels hunger even in the days of tenderest 
love — our young gentlemen of the present time know that 


A PEJq-KILESS OEPHAN. 37 

very well, and, more than that, they realize also that 
caviare tastes better than rice broth. 

A ant Lotte did not return a syllable to this bitter, 
realistic explanation. After a few moments of deep silence, 
she began timidly: 

“ Cousin, I have an idea. If you — no, if Moritz — Frieda 
said recently that she must have a governess — if now Elsie 
were to try for a time with the children, she would then 
have a serious occupation, and — She ceased speaking 
and tried anxiously to catch a glimpse of her companion's 
features, in the dusk. 

‘‘ That is — that would do, perhaps, Lotte, continued 
Frau von Eatenow, quietly, and arose. “ That is certainly 
not a bad idea — really, I will immediately speak to — 
She caught up her mantle and took it over her arm. ‘‘ I 
will say to you, Lotte, turning around again at the door, 
“ I much prefer to have the child near us, and also, that 
she should not be exactly a governess— but — donT mention 
that! Good-evening, Lotte 

Then the door closed and the firm steps resounded and 
died away in the hall. 

Aunt Lotte stood in the middle of her little room, shak- 
ing her head. Oh! this world became more prosaic every 
day! 


OHAPTEE V. 

A DAEK, cheerless October day was drawing to an end; 
through the heavy gray fog rushed a locomotive with red, 
glowing eyes, a long train of railway carriages behind it, 
blowing mighty clouds of steam into the white sea of mist; 
fog and smoke fioated and twirled confusedly in wild, fan- 
tastic. shapes, waved and curled and fluttered, then seemed 
to hang upon the branches of the pines, always finding new 
places in the incessant, dizzy, onward rush of the train. 

A young girl stood at the window of the ‘^Frauen 


38 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


coupe/^ SO tall and slender that the ribbon bow on her 
simple straw hat was almost as high as the upper section of 
the window; she was the only occupant of the compart- 
ment on tliis wet autumn evening, but her young face 
showed no trace of frost or loneliness; her cheeks glowed 
with joyful excitement, the hazel eyes shone, and the small 
mouth broke occasionally into a smile, then again was for 
a moment half opened, as if in expectation of something 
wonderful, lending the face a sweet, child-like expression. 

She went from one window to the other, but there was 
never anything to be seen but mist; the train ran insuffer- 
ably slowly too, she thought. Probably for the twelfth 
time she took up her traveling bag and then laid it down 
again. How surprised they would all be! Moritz was to 
meet her at ten o^clock, and now it was only seven. 

Her heart beat as if it would burst as she heard the long, 
sustained whistle of the locomotive, and then saw single 
lights slipping rapidly past the windows. What an age it 
was since she had been here! For the last two years and a 
half it had never been convenient for her to spend her hol- 
idays at the Burg; once they had all been away, another 
time the children had had the measles, and' — 

‘‘Oh! there was the station! Elsie let down the window 
and leaned way-out in the cold, damp air; here was the 
well, there stood the old one-eyed porter, and here below, 
away off beyond the garden, the lights of the little town 
glimmered, orange-colored, through the smoke and fog. 
Oh ! it is such bliss to come home from among strangers; 
to come home! 

“ Which way, friiulein?^^ asked the porter? 

“Oh! It can stay here, they will send for it to-morrow 
from the Burg,^^ she said hurriedly; “ I came earlier — 

“Will you go all alone then?^^ It seemed cruel to the 
man not to earn anything. 

It occurred to Elsie that Aunt Katenow always thought 


A PEKinLESS OEPHAH. 


39 


it improper for ladies to travel alone. “You may carry 
my bag; but burry, please ' 

She had already hastened on along the well-known, 
thinly built-up street as far as the Stadt-thor, and not 
until she had reached the Thorstrasse did her gasping com- 
panion overtake her. There stood the old Rath-haus 
tower, there were the slanting, crooked houses, and there 
too the wavering lanterns hanging from chains in the mid- 
dle of the street; the house-bells rang just the same, and 
there in the shop where Moritz used sometimes to buy 
candy for her was the identical Moorish boy behind the 
window panes to show that good tobacco could be bought 
inside. 

At last she stood still and gazed at a couple of dimly 
lighted windows; involuntarily she turned her steps aside 
to hurry up there — to- papa. But Moritz had explicitly 
written that he and Aunt Ratenow wished to talk with her 
first — no, she must be obedient, and she slowly turned 
away. 

“A fine, roundabout way, frilulein,^^ grumbled her at- 
tendant. “ You donT know the place very well. 

She only nodded, smiling, and proceeded with flying 
steps out through the Steinthor into the linden avenue. 
Kow she knew every gnarled trunk that lifted itself up 
black in the darkness. She knew the gleaming of the lamps 
ower there and the barking of the watch-dog which 
sounded in her ear. Kow, with palpitating heart, she 
leaned against the arch of the gate-way — It lay before her 
— the dear old house! Up there were Aunt Letter’s win- 
dows, brilliantly lighted, and underneath were those of 
Aunt Ratenow's room; the lamp was burning over the^ 
house-door and figures were moving behind the kitchen 
windows, and yonder the big carriage was being drawn out 
of the coach-house. 

“You may go,^^ she whispered to the man, taldng the 
little sachel and laying a piece of money in his hand; then, 


40 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


with ever swifter steps she ran to the entrance and stood 
in the vaulted vestibule. Where first? But she only hesi- 
tated an instant, then turned to the stairs; up there, in that 
bright little room, was her especial, her dearest home. 

“ Aunt Lotte she cried, on the threshold; as clear as 
a lark it sounded through the silent room. 

“ Elschen! darling rang back. Yes, she was once 
more at home; she was expected here. Oh! it is so lovely 
to come home!” 

“ Dear me! I should hardly have recognized you, Elsie; 
only the eyes are the same,^’ cried Aunt Lotte, after she 
had released the girl from her arms. 

“ Dear auntie, I have grown, havenH I? But I am 
eighteen years old. 

‘‘ Come, come! take olf your mantle, there. Now here, 
see, the tea will be ready in a minute. Truly, eighteen 
years old, child! I have told you in your birthday poem 
what that means for one of us. ” And Aunt Lotte stood 
before the smiling, rosy maiden, with the tea-pot in her 
hand, and recited: 

“ Aclitzehn Falire! Lenzeszauber, 

Der dicb einmal nur begriisst — 

Halb erscbloss’ne Ilosenknx)spe, 

Die die Friiblingssonne klisst — ” 

“Ah! auntie, life is so lovely interrupted the girl; 
“ when I used to sit over my books until my head seemed 
so heavy that I could not do any more, then I would think 
of all the happiness which every one must experience, and 
upon my youth which lay before me. Sister Beate always 
said. Heaven had assured to each one a share of happiness. 
Oh, auntie! I do so rejoice in my portion; I could scarcely 
wait till I could get out of the school-room!” 

Aunt Lotte hastily poured out the tea; she was all at 
once in a dream of spring-time and nightingale’s songs; 
she had been young once, and there before her, in her 
little room, sat the embodiment of spring. How beautiful 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


41 


the little Elsie had grown! With what a fresh, innocent 
face she gazed at life; how many, many buds of hope were 
blooming behind the smooth white forehead; what en- 
chanted brightness lurked in the eyes and what joy in the 
heart. ‘‘ Ah, happy youth whispered the old lady. 

‘ ‘ Achtzehn Falire ! In’ s armste Leben 
Streut es seine Freuden ein, 

Fullt der Zukunft dunkle Thaler 
Ganz mit goldnem Sonnenschein — ” 

And now the dear girl was here once more. She had 
worked hard for years; she had no home, no tender moth- 
er, no expectations for the future, and notwithstanding all, 
youth, which considered it her lawful right to be happy, 
to demand happiness, had raised her up to a genuine 
heaven. How long would it be before Aunt Katenow 
would come with her garden shears, and in her terrible, 
realistic fashion, cut off one bud after the other. Aunt 
Lotte was obliged ^o turn away and set the tea-pot into the 
stove in order to master her tears. 

‘‘But now, ami tie, how is everything here?^^ asked 
Elsie, quickly drinking her tea: “I must run down to see 
Aunt Eatenow and Moritz and Frieda.'^ 

“ Yes, you must, child; yes, yes!^^ said the old lady. 
“ Eeally you will see very little of Frieda, they are having 
rehearsals for theatricals down-stairs; they want to play 
something for Aunt Eatenow^s birthday; but Moritz wiJl 
certainly have a few minutes to spare. 

“ Eehearsals? Who?^’’ 

“ How, who? The officers from the town, child, and 
the young women. Every night there is a supper after - 
ward, and the day before yesterday they even danced. 
Mercy on us! Elsie, I hear your aunt’s step, and you have 
not been to see her yet.-” 

“ Ho, it is Moritz!” cried Elsie, and in an instant she 
was behind the stove and had drawn her skirts close around 
her slender figure, Yes, it was Moritz; he merely wished 


42 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


to ask if Aunt Lotte would not be able to drive to the sta- 
tion to meet the little one. Frieda had half the town here 
again for supper. As he spoke he sunk down in the 
nearest chair, and pushed his hair back from his forehead 
as he often did when he wished to drive away unpleasant 
thoughts. 

Suddenly two trembling little hands were laid over his 
eyes. “ Uncle Moritz, who am asked a dear, familiar 
voice, and a clear exhilarating laugh followed. 

“ You witch!^^ he cried, holding her fast and springing 
up. “Child, how you have grown His good face 
lighted up. “ They could not have treated you very bad- 
ly in H , surely. And you donT look learned, either, 

thank Heaven. ” 

“ No, Moritz, I certainly have no talent for that. Just 
imagine, the professor assured me of the fact only yester- 
day,^^ she said, dejectedly, but as he smiled, she added by 
way of consolation: “ The examination, however, was brill- 
iant!^^ 

He kept looking at her. “ Aunt Lotte, we are growing 
old; have I then — and he made a rocking motion with 
his arms — “ held that tall young lady so — and now?^' 

“ Truly, answered Aunt Lotte, “ as I suddenly saw 
her before me I thought of Schiller.’’^ 

“ And glorious in the pride of youth — 

“ That is right, Lotte,^^ broke in a voice, “ fill her head 
with nonsense. 

Aunt Batenow was standing upon the threshold, as if 
produced by magic, and behind her appeared Frieda^s 
laughing face. 

“We want to see if it is true,^^ she exclaimed. “ Karo- 
line declared she had heard Elsie ^s voice up here, and posi- 
tively here she is.^’ 

Elsie had just emerged from Aunt Eatenow^s double 
shawl, which the old lady was accustomed to wrap about 
her in coming through the cold hall; now her lips were 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


43 


impetuously kissed by the young woman. “ MoritZ;, donH 
you see she comes as if she had been sent for? I have 
just received a note from Frau von D., saying she can not 
join us, as she is in mourning. Now we are out of our 
difficulty. 

“ What is the matter? asked Frau von Ratenow, 
sharply. 

“ I have no time, mamma; I must go down-stairs, and 
you must not ask me anyway,^ ^ called back Frieda. 
“Bring Elsie down with you when you come, Moritz 
and in a second the dainty figure in the heavy navy-blue 
sSk gown had disappeared beliind the door. 

“ Now, then, child, said Aunt Ratenow, addressing 
the young girl, “ we have decided that you are to remain 
here for the present. 

“Oh! how gladly— if papa will allow it,^^ was the per- 
fectly natural reply; “ but then, aunt — 

“To be sure, he will allow it,^^ interrupted the old 
lady. It sounded peculiarly, and Aunt Lotte and Moritz 
looked at each other. “ And in order that you may — 
she continued. 

“We can talk about the rest to-morrow, interposed 
Moritz. “ Mother, dear, do us the favor of taking supper 
with us this evening; Frieda would be so pleased. 

“ You. know, Moritz, I can not endure so much talking, 
she responded. “ Of course, it would be much pleasanter 
if we could be alone, but — Now please do it. Aunt 
Lotte and Elsie! Get ready for supper. 

“ Mother and auntie can excuse themselves early. In- 
deed, mother will be requested to do so/’ 

Frau von Ratenow arose, shaking her head. ‘‘My 
faithful old birthday,^ ^ she said, “ that must now give a 
name for your festivities. Come for me, Moritz, when it 
is time — 

“ Aunt Lotte, said Elsie, after she had made a slight 
alteration in her dress by fastening a knot of delicate rose- 


44 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


colored ribbon on the simple black cashmere gown which 
was so becoming to her clear complexion and golden hair, 
it seems so odd! Aunt Eatenow was out of humor, and 
so was Moritz — 

Yes, but — I really do not know why,^^ was the evasive 
reply. ‘‘ Are you ready? It is high time.^^ 

Elsie was ready, and they went along the hall together, 
and down the stairs. 

‘‘ Oh, Elsie! my handkerchief!^^ exclaimed Aunt Lotte, 
as they were on the point of entering the drawing-room. 
She was always forgetting something. 

‘‘ You go in, auntie, I will fetch it,^^ said the girl. » 
After a few minutes she came slowly down the stairs 
again. In the hall below she perceived an ofiBcer. He 
had Just brushed his hair to the last degree of smoothness, 
and, having straightened his uniform, took up a violin- 
case and prepared to go to the door opening into the draw- 
ing-room. At this moment he glanced up, and the two 
young people looked into each other^s eyes. 

It was as it always is under such circumstances. He made 
a low bow, his spurs striking lightly together, then opened 
the door for the young girl to enter before him. 

It was only dimly lighted, but still as she walked quick- 
ly through it Elsie could not help admiring the sumptuous 
new arrangement of the large dark room. It had become 
the veritable type of an old German state apartment, with 
its dark wainscoting, the handsome carved oak furniture, 
and the costly hangings which fell to the floor in such 
graceful folds; here and there shone faint reflections from 
the artistic bronzes and the palms in the “ Makart-bou- 
quets gently waved their branches as she passed by. 

A flood of light burst from Frieda^s . salon, with the 
sound of eager talking and laughing. As the young girl 
appeared at the door the conversation died away for an 
instant, introductions followed, and then Elsie found her- 
self in the midst of the fragrant and intoxicating atmos- 


A PEiq-KILESS ORPHAN. 


45 


phere of the drawing-room. She fled to Aunt Lotte's 
side, and ensconced herself behind her arm-chair, and from 
this shelter the big child-like eyes gazed out upon the un- 
familiar scene. Such a buzzing and talking, such laugh- 
ing and joking! They chatted over the happenings in 
their small circle, of promotion, and a little “ chronique 
scandaleuse,' ' and in the midst of all an energetic word or 
two could be heard from Aunt Ratenow. It was one glit- 
ter of dazzling uniforpis, of exquisite but simple toilets, 
and suddenly some one said Bernardi was going to play. 

The officer with whom Elsie had entered took a violin* 
out of its case, and conversed earnestly for a moment with 
Frieda; then she sat down before the piano, and, pushing 
back the lace ruffles at her wrists, struck a few chords. 
Instantly an intense silence reigned in the room. 

“Bernardi is going to play, Elsie. Pay attention!" 
whispered Aunt Lotte. “ He plays divinely!" and in an 
instant, as the young man's slender hand drew the bow 
across the strings, a wonderfully soft, sweet note trembled 
through the room; tone followed tone, the melody some- 
times plaintive and sorrowful, as though the little bi’own 
violin were weeping, sometimes in brilliant staccato, in 
wild passionate rhythm, and then the bow was lowered. 

Elsie started; it seemed to her as if she had just 
awakened from a dream. Every one applauded vigor- 
ously, and Aunt Ratenow was even more enthusiastic than 
the rest. 

“ My dear Bernardi," she cried, “ indeed I understand 
nothing of modern music; long ago your father moved me 
to tears when he played Beethoven's ‘ Adelaide ' upon this 
same violin. Nevertheless, I must grant the palm to the 
son," and she extended her hand to the young man, who 
grasped it, bowing deeply. Then he whispered to Frieda, 
and in an instant, making a second bow to the old lady, 
he took up his bow, and Beethoven's ‘ Adelaide ' floated 
upon the air. 


46 


A PEtTNILESS ORPHAK. 


“ Deutlich schimmert aiif jedem Purpurblattclien: 
Adelaide, Adelaide whispered Aunt Lotte, with bright- 
ening eyes. “Oh! what a pity, finished already! Oh, 
dear Lieutenant Bernard!, how wonderful !^^ Elsie heard 
her say, and as she glanced up he was standing before her 
aunt, but he was looking over the white cap at her. He 
had dark, almost melancholy eyes, which lent a peculiar 
expression to his regular features with the saucy black 
mustache. His comrades asserted that he was descended 
from the gypsies, and so naturally he could tame the little 
* “ Worn mernholz. 

“ Is Fraulein von Hegebach also musical?^^ he now 
asked, as sociably as possible, and drawing his chair be- 
tween Elsie and Aunt Lotte. 

“ I sing a little, she replied, and with that they were 
in the midst of a conversation. Aunt Lotte put in a word 
occasionally, for the sake of propriety only, as she under- 
stood uothing of music; she was, however, inwardly aston- 
ished at Elsie, who talked so knowingly about thorough 
bass, Chopin and Wagner. What a quantity the little one 
had learned ! 

She sat beside him at the table; she had no idea how. 
fast the hours were flying. She saw neither Moritz ^s smile 
nor Frau von Ratenow^s stern glance. 

The children of to-day, said the old lady to herself, 
“ can be brought out of their corner and taken directly 
into society; they know how to chatter !^^ Then she arose 
and, consequently, gave the signal for the breaking up of 
the supper. 

As Elsie kissed her hand and wished her “ Gesegnete 
Mahlzeit!^^ she held fast to the young girFs arm. 

“ You will perhaps go over with me, child, and with- 
out waiting for the reappearance of Frieda, who was en- 
gaged in the adjoining room, she took, as she called it, 
“ French leave,^^ which means that she slipped through 
Moritz ^s library, and so left the company unobserved. 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


47 


“ Well, Elsie, she said, in her pleasant room, that is 
over with, Mercy on us, how those young women do 
chatter! You are not exactly tongue-tied yourself. Did 
you enjoy it?” 

‘‘ Oh, aunt!” — the young girl had grown scarlet. 

‘‘ The one blessing was that Bernard! played,” said 
Frau von Ratenow, without noticing the blush. “ Ring 
for the maid, Elsie, she must bring fresh water, and then 
you may go; go to sleep, child, to-morrow morning we will 
have a talk. ” 

Elsie, where are you keeping yourself?” called Frieda^s 
voice, outside. 

“ Oh! well, then, I canT help it,” muttered the old 
lady, and in a moment Frieda stood in the door-way, mo- 
tioning to Elsie to come. 

I really believe,” said the young woman, when they 
were in the hall, ‘‘ that mamma wanted to send you to 
bed like a little child. Hurry! you must read j'-our part 
to-day, afterward we are going to dance. 

It was long past midnight as Elsie went up the stairs. 
She looked once more over the carved balusters to the en- 
trance-hall beneath, where the guests were wrapping them^ 
selves up in cloaks and hoods preparatory to going home. 
Bernardi stood in the center among them and saluted her. 
‘‘Good-night!” she cried, like a merry child. Then she 
sat for a long time by Aunt Letters bed and told her about 
the boarding-school, about Sister Beat^, and of everything 
she could think of; they even mentioned the dead puss. 
It was all the same what they talked about, for she could 
never sleep to-night; there was no chance of that. 


CHAPTER VI. 

On the following morning the rain came down in tor- 
rents; it rushed and drizzled over the roofs, it sputtered 
and murmured in the gutters, and the groaning branches 


48 


A PEITNILESS ORPHAN. 


of the trees, stripped of half their leaves, were tossed 
hither and thither by the cold autumn wind. 

This raw, frigid tone seemed to have overcome the entire 
household, for Aunt Lotte and Elsie were the only mem- 
bers of the family who arose in a cheerful frame of mind. 

“ Now, auntie dear, you shall be well she had said; 
and when the old lady entered her sitting-room she found 
all her small tasks had been done for her — the room dust- 
ed, the flowers watered, and the bullfinch in his cage 
taken care of; and Elsie, in her simple little gown, was 
seated at the window gazing out at the storm. 

“ I love this weather,” she began, when they were drink- 
ing their coffee, “ it is so cozy in the house; but neverthe- 
less, it is stupid that it rains. I must go to papa% Aunt 
Lotte. My conscience troubles me that I was so merry 
here last night and had not yet been to see him.^^ 

She had scarcely finished speaking when some one 
knocked, and Moritz entered. He wore a heavy cloth coat 
and high boots. 

“Oh, Moritz, you have got a headache exclaimed 
Aunt Lotte. He nodded and shook hands with her. 

“It is almost unbearable, he responded. “ I have 
come to ask Elsie if she would like to go into town; I have 
something to attend to at the Rath-haus. 

She was ready at once, and went after her hat and cloak. 
Moritz gazed at her attentively. 

“ She has grown to be a dear pretty girl. Aunt Lotte,” 
he said, as the door closed behind her. The old lady 
quickly nodded her acquiescence. 

“ But how goes it with all of your people down-stairs, 
Moritz 

“ Well, only so-so. Frieda is low in her mind; she has 
received bad news; her father’s b^;other is dead. She never 
knew him, she says; but evidently the family will go into 
mourning, especially as the old gentleman was immarried 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


49 


and has left his entire fortune to my father-in-law. Frieda 
wants to go to town with me to make some purchases.^' 

‘‘Ay, ay!^^ exclaimed Aunt Lotte, “and your theat- 
. ricals?^^ 

“ It puts an end to them, thank fortune,^^ he said, smil- 
ing in spite of his headache. 

“ Well, well! Elsie, we have not got so far. Frieda is 
not nearly ready yet,^^ he remarked to the girl as she again 
appeared, “ but in the meantime you might run down and 
say good-morning to mother. 

Frau von Ratenow sat by the window sorting an enor- 
mous pile of stockings, drawing each one over her hand 
and scrutinizing it sharply through her glasses. 

'“It is sweet and good of you, Elsie,” she said in the 
course of the conversation and more gently than she was 
wont to speak, “but you know old gentlemen have their 
peculiarities, and you must not think your father does not 
love you if he should say to you that he is willing to have 
you stay with us. It appears to you, and perhaps also to 
others, hard and harsh, but you must look for the explana- 
tion in his dreary life of trials, in the entire joyless seclu- 
sion in which he has only had himself to think of — perhaps 
in time he may beCCme more approachable. ” 

Whoever would have recognized in these words the 
severe, decided woman who to-day only endeavored to put 
the father’s actions in the best light for the child. 

“ My regards to your father!” she called after her, as 
the young girl stood in the door-way. Frieda was evidently 
in the worst possible humor; she lay back in the carriage, 
closely wrapped up in her soft fur cloak, and did not 
speak. At last she took a dainty purse in her hand and 
shook out its contents into her cambric handkerchief. 

“ There is not nearly enough, Moritz,” she said, playing 
with the gold pieces, “you must pay the bill at Der- 
wendt’s yourself, I will have the things charged to-day.” 

Without further ceremony he drew out his pocket-book 


50 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


and silently gave her a couple of bank-notes. She took 
them, pushed them into her porte-monnaie with the other 
money and put it in her pocket. 

‘‘ Moritz, may I buy that little Hager e for the drawing- _ 
room?^^ she asked, and looked at him entreatingly with 
her blue eyes. 

He turned his head wearily toward her; but his vexed 
expression vanished as he looked at the beautiful face that 
smiled at him so fascinatingly from under the black fur 
cap. “ How devoted your heart is to such trumpery he 
said. I am willing; but we must have an auction next, 
you have got so many things, mustn^t we? However, as 
for this, what does it cost?’^ 

‘‘ Oh! it is not so bad; a hundred marks, perhaps, 
Moritz. 

He did not speak; andr-Elsie did not know what to say; 
then the carriage stopped before the major^s house and 
Elsie sprung out. She went once more 'through the 
crooked entrance and up the steep stairs, hesitated a mo- 
ment at the door of her father^s room, then went into the 
little kitchen first. 

Old Siethmann had just placed a couple of wine-glasses 
upon a tray, and her trembling hands were endeavoring to 
draw the cork from a bottle of Rhine wine. 

‘‘ Give it to me, Dora, smilingly said the girl, ‘‘I have 
more strength. 

“Mercy on us!^^ screamed the old woman, joyfully. 
“Elschen! Eraulein Elschen! and how you have grown! 
And I say, of course it must happen so! For ten years 
we haven^t had a guest, and to-day they come out of every 
corner!^’ 

Elsie set the bottle of wine on the tray. 

“ Who is here then, Dora, who is talking with papa? I 
would not like to disturb him. 

“How you must guess!” ejaculated the old woman, 
simpering, and tying on a clean apron. “How ’you are 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


51 


full of curiosity, Elschen. I see that, j ust as your mother 
used to be. Well — and she came close up to the girl — 
“ it is the Benue witzer! I didn^t know him,^^ she con- 
tinued. ‘‘ A fine gentleman in black came and asked for 
the major, his cousin; if I had told your papa first, he cer- 
tainly never would have seen him;, but I, without waiting, 
opened the door right away, and — clap! — there they sat 
together. Now only let them quarrel a bit, Elschen, I 
don't believe it would be to your disadvantage; for, truly 
you know that they have behaved toward each other like a 
cat and a dog on account of the inheritance. And now — 
but — do you want to carry in the wine, Elschen?" 

‘‘ Did papa wish for it?" asked the young girl. 

Goodness! he never thinks of such things," returned 
the old woman, shrugging her shoulders. ‘‘ I only sup- 
posed when members of the family came that way for a 
visit a body knew what was suitable." 

At this moment the major's voice resounded, even as far 
as the kitchen, in such powerful and wrathful tones that 
Siethmann, who was pressing the tray upon the girl, sunk 
down overcome with fright. 

Oh, mercy, Elsie, he is angry," she stammered; and in- 
deed the violent exclamations of the excited man fell upon 
the trembling girl 's ear. In an instant she had hurried 
across the hall, had opened the door and was standing 
upon the threshold, deadly pale, but with an expression of 
perfect ingenuousness. 

“ Papa, I do not intrude?" she asked, going toward the 
old man, who stood motionless in the middle of the room 
with a letter in his hand, his face crimson, and staring at 
her as if she were an apparition. 

The fine-looking man leaning against the window did 
not bear the least resemblance to his excited, wrathful 
cousin; in his outward appearance he was a gentleman 
from head to foot, and he also seemed to. have retained a 


52 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


well-bred calm; at least his face, with the sad lines at the 
corner of the mouth, was utterly unmoved. 

‘‘ You do not disturb us in the least, Fraulein von Hege- 
bach,'' he said with a low bow, ‘Mt is even a welcome in- 
terruption. I was just trying to explain a misunderstand- 
ing to your father, and it was aggravated by new differ- 
ences. 

“ Papa!^' the lovely young creature had put both arms 
around the worn old man, dear papa, I am so glad to be 
with you again I And she clung to him as if she would 
shield him from all the troubles in the world. 

Major von Hegebach was for a moment disconcerted; he 
stroked his daughter's fair hair with one hand, while with 
the other he pushed her from him. 

‘‘ Afterward, afterward, my child. I must talk with — 
with this gentleman here. 

‘‘ The young lady need not disturb us, cousin. I think 
we might sit down and settle the whole matter quietly, as 
is fitting for men in the presence of a lady,^^ said the 
Bennewitzer, and pushed his chair toward the table, which 
was completely covered with cigar boxes and newspapers. 
“I beg of you, Wilhelm,^^^ he continued, placing a chair 
for -Elsie also, ‘‘ let us talk the matter over calmly. You 
know I have not come here in any implacable mood, and 
you also know well which of us two has had the harder 
fate.^^ 

Hegebach had taken a seat in obedience to a beseeching 
look from Elsie. For a moment it was perfectly still in 
the smoky old room. 

“We two/^ the Bennewitzer began again, “can not 
help it that our uncle. Heaven forgive him, made, his will 
as he did and not otherwise; it is too late to change it now. 
Your claims, as you must have known yourself before you 
raised them, and as your counsel ought to have told you, 
are untenable. I have not the right to divide the estate 
and fortune which I have inherited, but I am able to make 


A PENl^riLESS OEPHAK. 


53 


you the proposal which I mentioned a little while ago, and 
it proceeded from good and honorable sentiments. Accept 
this offer, Wilhelm, even if not on your own account, for 
the sake of your daughter. 

‘‘ I will not accept it,^^ said the major, “ and then wait 
— for the rest. 

“ For Heaven^s sake be reasonable, Wilhelm begged 
the Bennewitzer, casting a glance at the young girl. 

“ I know what I have to do. I thank you!^^ 

The old man took up a bundle of newspapers with his 
trembling hands and laid them in another place, then 
nervously flapped the cover of a cigar-box back and forth. 
Elsie looked helplessly from one to the other. 

‘‘The question is a very important one, Fraulein von 
Hegebach,^^ said the Bennewitzer, turning to the young 
girl. “ Your father has the idea lately, since a cruel fate 
has robbed me of my two sons and consequently of the 
heirs of the family estate, that he has claims upon it. I 
do not know if he has gone so far as to carry them into the 
courts; at all events he is badly advised. I came to-day in 
order to prevent this entirely hopeless lawsuit, and want- 
ed— 

“To lay a plaster over my mouth interrupted the 
major, hastily. “ Again I decline your help in a case 
where I claim and demand my rights!^^ 

The Bennewitzer arose. “ My intentions were good, 
Wilhelm; far be it from me to wish to force anything upon 
you: prosecute your claim then. 

He took his hat, with its deep mourning, from the chair 
next him and held o^t his hand to Elsie. “ It would give 
me great pleasure to be permitted to meet my charming 
cousin under more agreeable circumstances. Adieu, Frau- 
lein von Hegebach.^^ The next moment the door closed 
behind the distinguished-looking man. 

“ Papa!"'^ said the girl sadly, after the old man, appar- 
ently forgetting her presence, had rummaged for awhile 


54 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAK. 


among the letters and papers in his writing-desk. 
“ Papa!^^ Hegebach started suddenly and rubbed his 
forehead. Papa, I would like to talk with you a little. 

He discontinued his search and looked at her. 

“ I only wanted to say to you that I would have come to 
you so gladly and have kept house for you, would have 
read aloud to you in the evenings, and have arranged your 
rooms neatly. 

There must have been something in her voice which 
compelled him to listen to her still further. He sat down 
in his arm-chair and leaned his head upon his hand. 

“ And I would so willingly have taken care of you when 
you were ill, and you would not have been so lonely any 
more, for — Aunt Ratenow — the girPs clear voice broke 
suddenly from pain and anxiety. ‘‘ Let me stay with you, 
papa. I am so sorry for ’you!^’ she cried, winding her 
arms around the old man^s neck. You are always so 
alone, you can never be happy!’^ 

‘‘No, Elsie; that would not do,^^ he answered; but he 
did not shake off the little hands. “ You have no luck in 
life, ]Door child! that you should call such a beggar as I am 
‘ father!’ It might have been different. But he w^hom 
Fate has once set upon a jaded beast, never again during 
his whole existence mounts a decent horse. I’ve told your 
Aunt Ratenow how much I have to live upon — twenty 
thalers a month! It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? The 
rest of my pension goes for debts of long standing, which I 
must honorably discharge, and which will require years yet 
before they can be paid.” 

“ Papa!” ' > 

She wanted to reply, but he cut her words short. 

“ It is best so, as Frau von Ratenow said to me the day 
before yesterday. You are to undertake the education of 
the little Ratenows, and to receive a pi-oper compensation 
for it; and, moreover, you are like a cliild of the house 
there. That is better luck than a hundred others would 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


55 


have in your position. As for the rest, we will wait/^ he 
concluded. 

The young girl had sprung up and was looking at the 
speaker with a deathly pale face, but she did not utter a 
word. She only realized, one thing instantaneously — that 
a sweet, golden, careless girlhood no longer lay before her. 
The dear old house out yonder appeared before her as if 
veiled in deep shadow. She no longer had a right there; 
she must earn it first by her services. She was, on a sud- 
den, thrown from her position as a child of the house back 
into one of servitude! Oh! how could she have thought 
that love and kindness would be given for nothing.^ They 
had educated a governess for themselves — that was all. 

At this moment the young girFs heart was filled with an 
indescribable bitterness; it was not fear of the work, but 
the pain of a great disillusion. 

“Good-bye, papa,^' she said, putting on her hat; “I 
will come to see you as often as — She hesitated; in her 
present mood she wanted to say, “ as often as my master 
and mistress — but then Moritz's good face came into her 
mind; “ as often as I am permitted," she corrected her- 
self. 

He shook hands with her. 

“ Things may improve, Elsie; you are still so young." 
She nodded. 

“ Good-bye, papa. " 

Then she went away. How differently she had come! 
She stood at the door with a sad face; the handsome car- 
riage which had brought her was just turning the corner; 
Moritz was coming after her, for she had promised to wait 
for him. 

“ What is the matter, Elsie?" he asked, as he sprung 
out to help her into the carriage. “ Has anything vexed 
you, little one?" 

And he took her hand. 

“ When do you wish niQ to begin the lessons?" was the 


56 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


answer, as they were driven away. “ And don^t you wish 
to examine my certificate?^^ 

He looked up; the tone of her voice was so strange; her 
lips were painfully compressed. 

The lessons?^^ he asked. “ Oh, yes! I believe moth- 
er did intend to ask you to try to teach the children a little 
bit. Would you like it, Elsie 

‘‘ It is all arranged,^' she replied. ‘‘ I was not consulted 
beforehand. 

“ Have you been offended in any way, Elsie? Nobody 
intended to do so, believe me,^^ he said, gently, looking at 
the girFs white face. 

Her eyes were filled with tears as she glanced at him. 

“ Moritz, I will do anything; I will stay with your chil- 
dren day and night; but donT offer me any money for it. 
I can not bear it,^-’ she sobbed. 

“ But, Elsie, Elsie, how wrongly you look at it!^^ he ex- 
claimed, shocked. 

And, as the carriage at that moment stopped before the 
door, he said : 

“ I beg you to go to Aunt Lotte, Elsie. I must first 
speak to mother; Ifil be up there in an instant to talk 
with you — ” 

Elsie had been standing in her room looking out at the 
rain and the storm. She was no longer weeping; all at 
once she had become calm. Yesterday lay far behind her; 
it seemed as though she had been dreaming. 

Why, indeed, had she forgotten what Aunt Eatenow had 
so often said to her when she was a child? 

You must learn to stand upon your own feet in the 
future."" 

But who ever thinks about the necessities of life when in 
the midst of merry young playfellows, and when existence 
is still like a May morning? 

‘‘ Elsie!"" called a voice just then. 

She turned about, and Aunt Eatenow stood before her. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


57 


‘‘ I am sorry, Elsie, that you so greatly misjudge a thing 
which is most kindly meant. I can not help the facts, and 
must repeat to you that your circumstances are not such as 
will allow you to flutter through life like a gay butterfly; 
you must even become the industrious bee. If you wish to 
teach the children, it is of course understood that you shall, 
receive compensation for it as any one else would. I am 
not able, and I have no right to do otherwise; it is only 
false pride which prompts you to refuse to accept it, and if 
you reflect upon the case you will comprehend it. Life 
is long, my child; meanwhile, I will by no means lay the 
hateful money in your hands, but will let it accumulate, 
and will take care of it for you, so that you may have a lit- 
tle fund. However, no one forces you to undertake the 
teaching — understand that, Elsie. You are a guest in my 
house, and may remain one so long as it is agreeable to 
you. The decision lies with you, Elsie. 

“I accept it, and will give the instruction,’^ said the 
girl, softly. 

That is right, Eisie. Everything else remains as of 
old. How is your father?” 

He was excited; he had a dispute with the Benne- 
witzer. I met him at papa’s.” 

“ The Bennewitzer?” exclaimed Frau von Ratenow, so 
vehemently that the girl was startled. “ And you tell that 
so casually? Did he see you?” 

‘‘Yes, aunt.” 

“ What did he want?” 

Elsie was silent for a moment; she had felt that her fa- 
ther was about to give way to a false idea. 

“ It was on account of Bennewitz— the estate,” she said. 

“ I think my father wishes to get a division of it by law.” 

“ Has he gone mad?” cried the old lady, flushing with 
anger; and then, recollecting that the man’s daughter 
stood before her, she added, ‘‘you do not understand it, 
Elsie; and I do not mean quite that; I must talk with your 


58 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


father; he will mix up a fine broth for himself. How did 
the Bennewitzer appear, Elsie and she stroked the girBs 
face with her hand. ‘‘ AYe will arrange it pleasantly here 
now for the winter/^ she went on, without waiting for a 
reply. 

“Aunt Lotte,^’ said the girl, with a sorrowful smile, as 
she went into the cheerful, sitting-room a little later, “ if I 
should forget again some day, then remind me of it.^’ 

“ Of what, then. Rosebud?’^ 

“ Of this — that I am a poor girl.^^ 


CHAPTER VII. 

However, it was not possible that she should always be 
able to remember it. 

The following morning, Elsie had wandered through the 
garden, and every tree had nodded to her: Do you know 
me still? Each spot where she had played as a child had 
whispered sweet words into the young heart which was ah 
most painfully touched. The sun shone so brightly and 
clearly over the imposing old house, and she knew every 
roof, every wind-mill, every hill — far off into the country. 
No; notwithstanding all, she was at home; noth withstand- 
ing all, she was not poor! 

How could she hold fast to troubled thoughts in the 
midst of so, much cheerfulness, pleasure, and gayety? 

It was too lovely in the pleasant dining-room, at the 
well-arranged table, so delightful when Aunt Ratenow re- 
lated something of the past! It was like a merry sunbeam 
when Mme. Frieda laughed, and the cliildren joined in 
with her, and Moritz presided at the head of the table with 
such dignity, carving the roast and looking after every- 
body! 

“ Elsie, really, will you not have anything more? Now 
eat something, little girl; see this delicious bit from Master 
Hare. Do — that is right — do you like it?^^ 


A PEl^KILESS ORPHAJ?-. 


59 


And, after dinner, lie took his small boy on his back, 
and then there was a wild chase in the garden, up and 
down the paths all together; such a shouting and tittering 
and laughing, until Frieda exclaimed: 

“ Stop, Moritz! We can^t catch youF^ 

Then the drives through the country in the autumn 
days. Sometimes, too, the handsome coupe of the young 
wife rolled through the streets of the little town where the 
clerks of the shops in which they wished to make pur- 
chases respectfully opened the door and helped the ladies 
out of the carriage. 

In the evenings, there were always visits, and then Jo- 
hann knocked at Aunt Letters door, and begged that 
Fraulein von Hegebach would come down to the young 
madame^s salon. 

Then how quickly the little hands would busy themselves 
before the mirror, arranging the shining hair and fasten- 
ing on the knot of bright ribbon; especially wherr the old 
man had added, “ There is going to be music. 

Whoever would have thought that the detested piano and 
singing-lessons should have such a train of beautiful sis- 
ters.^ And who would have believed that anything in the 
world could so sing and wail as the little brown violin 
which Lieutenant Bernardi held in his arms? 

The commencement of Elsie’s duties was still put off. 
She did not know that Moritz had privately said to his wife: 

‘‘Frieda, dear, do you understand? You intend posi- 
tively that the children shall not go to work before Janu- 
ary?” 

So when Elsie had begged the young mother that she 
would decide when the lessons were to begin, Frieda had 
very quietly answered that they had long enough time to 
consider that; she could not think of shutting the children 
up before the second of January; before that Moritz must 
arrange a school-room with proper chairs. The eldest 
daughter was growing altogether too fast, and, besides 


60 


A PENNILESS OltPHAN. 


that, the children would not have any interest before 
Christmas. 

Nothing that Aunt Ratenow said did any good now, for 
Frieda^s opinion, as the mother ^s, must be respected; and, 
more than that, in this season of quiet mourning it was 
not altogether too agreeable to the young woman to have a 
companion with her, for her to listen to any ‘‘ reasonable 
remonstrance.^^ And Moritz? Well, he was “ under pet- 
ticoat government,’^ as his mother, within her own four 
walls, and in an under-tone, said to Aunt Lotte. 

In Frieda’s drawing-room, Elsie had found her former 
schoolmate again, Fraulein Annie Cramm. She had re- 
turned home directly after her confirmation, and had been 
in society for two years. Her thin face, with the light blue 
eyes, looked just as pale and immature as formerly, and 
her hair was as flaxen as ever; but it was arranged with 
the utmost care, and her gown of costly material always 
fitted faultlessly the young lady’s somewhat angular figure. 

“ She is a goose!” said Frieda, frankly. 

“ But one with golden feathers, dear child,” added Aunt 
Ratenow; “that makes amends for a great deal.” 

Elsie chatted with Annie Cramm about the school to 
her heart’s content. 

The young lady even came up after awhile to see Aunt 
Lotte. Then, one minute she would sigh and look mourn- 
ful, and the next give a minute account of each ball and of 
the partners with whom she had danced quadrilles or the 
cotillon. As she possessed a small soprano voice, she was 
often drawn to Frieda’s musicales. She preferred to sing 
solos, and always appeared in a fine toilet, even if it were 
not invariably exactly suited to the occasion or to her fig- 
ure, and thus she often excited the derision of the young 
hostess, who possessed a sensitiveness which was almost 
morbid with regard to everything which was not chic, 

Elsie’s black cashmere gown appeared in her eyes, once 
for all, as “ tolerably becoming.” What should Frieda do? 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


61 


In the beginning she had had the intention of improving 
the girFs more than simple wardrobe from her own, but 
she had^thereupon met with most decided opposition from 
her otherwise so yielding husband. 

“ If Elsie needs anything/^ he declared, “ then mother 
will look after the things for her, as she has always done 
until now; anyway, what would she do with your cast-off 
gowns? She is a head taller than you. I do not wish her 
to wear your old dresses, Frieda! Why should she be 
stamped with the seal of poverty in the sight of every one?^^ 

So the slender, golden-haired maiden always appeared in 
her simple little black dress, a costume which only mado 
her own charms doubly prominent. 

They had now gone so far that twice a week, on ap- 
pointed days, the candles burned on the piano, and some- 
times there would be music from four o’clock in the after- 
noon until twelve at night. 

“ I can not do anything but blow on a comb, and by 
chance whistle ‘ Heil dir im Siegerkranz,’ ” exclaimed 
Moritz, one afternoon, as he saw Elsie in the hall coming 
down the stairs with a roll of music in her hand. ‘‘ I shall 
appear punctually for supper, and afterward, if some songs 
were to be given, I would listen to them with delight. As 
for your symphonies, I don’t understand them. Good-bye, 
Elsie; save a couple of songs for me.” 

Then, as he really had nothing to do out of doors, he 
went to his mother’s room, lighted a cigar, and made him- 
self comfortable in his father’s arm-chair. 

The mother and son were never at a loss for conversa- 
tion; the large estate alone furnished plenty of topics, and 
they were accustomed to confer together over everything. 
The practical old lady always had good counsel at hand, 
and so they were soon involved in a deep agricultural argu- 
ment. Then some small gossip about the little town was 
added, and in conclusion Moritz related that he had 
spoken to the Bennewitzer a few days before, in Magde- 


62 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


burg, and he had told him that his cousin had gone to law 
against him. 

‘‘Mercy on us!^^ said Frau von Eaten ow, “ the head- 
strong fellow will have to bruise himself cruelly before he 
will be convinced that there are any walls. I have talked 
to him till my tongue was tired, and written till my hand 
was lame, but he clings fast to his supposed ‘ just claims ^ 
with an intrepidity which is worthy of a better cause. 

She stopped, but her knitting-needles clicked together 
more energetically than before. Nothing could make the 
old lady more angry than when any one would not listen to 
her advice. 

“Tell me, my boy,^^ she asked, abruptly, “is it only 
devotion to music which brings the dark-eyed lieutenant 
•here so often with his violin?^ ^ 

“ Very likely,^^ replied Moritz; “ they certainly never 
do anything else, and on account of that forget to eat and 
drink. 

“ Well, do you know, Moritz, I donT rely upon you at 
all; in such matters you are like a child. I shall have to 
look after this for myself some day.'^ 

“ Oh, mother. Aunt Lotte is with them; she knits, and 
is charmed — 

“ Yes, she is the right one,^^ nodded Frau von Ratenow, 
still between jest and earnest; “ a good soul, but in spite 
of her age she would be the very first one to fall in love 
with Bernardi.^^ 

• Moritz burst out laughing. 

“ There is certainly nothing to laugh at, my boy; you 
once fell desperately in love yourself, and other people 
have eyes in their heads also and fresh young blood in their 
veins With these words she had taken off her pretty 
net cap, and passing her hand over the hair which was still 
brown, she added: “ Give me the cap with the lilac ribbons 
out of my drawer there, Moritz. So! that is it, thank you; 
now we will revel a little in music, too.^^ 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAIT. 


63 


The tall man had just closed the drawer again, and was 
dusting some cigar ashes from his dark blue clothes. 
“ Yes, mother dear, if you perhaps mean Elsie — 

‘‘ I mean nothing at all, Moritz. Are you coming with 

me?’^ 

“ With pleasure; you will soon see that there are no love 
potions in there; you are too anxious little mother. 

The candles and lamps were already lighted in the draw- 
ing-room; a concert of Kreutzer'^s had just been finished; 
and now, as the mother and son made their appearance, 
they were all in an animated conversation about the music. 
Frieda sat at the piano trying a few hard passages over 
again; Lieutenant Bernardi had put his violin down and 
was standing by Elsie, who was turning over the leaves of 
a piece of music. Annie Gramm and Aunt Lotte sat near 
the window; every one^s cheeks were flushed with enthusi- 
asm. 

‘‘We would like to hear a couple of songs, said Moritz, 
to explain their unexpected appearance, while Aunt Rate- 
now with a loud “ Good-evening, ladies, good- evening, my 
dear Bernardi took a seat in the corner by Aunt Lotte. 
Moritz had to smile to himself; his practical old mother 
was no diplomatist, she always went directly at a thing. 
It gave him no end of amusement to watch her. 

Friiulien Annie Gramm consented to sing. Elsie sat 
quietly in the deep bow-window, her sweet child-like face 
looking out from under the heavy blue curtains, which 
formed a lovely background for her little golden head. 
Bernardi had betaken himself to the other end of the room 
and was leaning against Frieda’s book-case, in shadow, ex- 
actly opposite Elsie. 

“ The family is as handsome as a picture,’* Frau von 
Eatenow acknowledged to herself, “ so straight and slender, 
and so graceful too; no wonder if — ” 

Then Annie Gramm’s voice wa^ heard, that voice which 


64 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


appeared in such painful contrast with the small, high- 
shouldered figure of the singer. 

Very fine, my dear,^-’ exclaimed the old lady, in praise, 
‘‘ but I do not understand it; it is too unearthly. 

Mamma, what treason; that is Wagner exclaimed 
Frieda. 

“ I don^t know him,’^ was the response, given with un- 
shaken calmness. 

“ Now you see! Because you will never go to the opera 
with us when we are in Berlin,^ ^ complained the young 
woman. 

“ Child, I have some faith in my nerves, but there I 
always say to myself: No! thepeojde of to-day are beyond 
us! After the first act I tremble in every limb, and have 
only one thought; will they not soon leave off? You who 
are always talking of nerves could endure it for hours! 

‘‘ Elsie, will you sing us ar simple song?” The young 
girl went to the piano with scarlet cheeks. 

“We can try the old song with the new arrangement,^^ 
proposed Frieda. She had a little secret shiver over the 
opinions of her mother-in-law, and a discord sounded in the 
first bars. But now a soft, full contralto voice began: 

Wer ist so verlassen wie ich auf der Welt? 

Nicht Vater nocli Mutter, kein Glilck und kein Geld, 

Niclits welter melir liab’ ich bergab und bergan, 

Als zwei braune Augen, dass weinen ich kaun. 

Es braust durch die Lande der herbstliche Wind, 

XJntreu ward der Liebste inir armen Kind, 

Weil silbern kein Kettlein am Halse mir gleisst! 

Ach, weiss es wohl Einer, was Sehnsucht heisst? 

“Dort unten rauscht’s Wasser, so tief und so hold, 

Kbnnt ich nur sterben, so ware mir wohll 

Drei Bliimlein, drei Roslein, ein schne*eweisses Kleid, 

Da schlief ich w5hl susse, olm’ Wehe und Leid.” 


A PEITKILESS ORPHAN. 


65 


“Bravo, Elsie said the old lady, giving her hand to 
the girl. The others remained silent, for Bernard! had tak- 
en up his violin and now he began to play the simple pa- 
thetic air, then a wild variation, an enchanted chaos of 
sound, the melody of the song running through the whole, 
with at last the painful cry of the last verse. 

The eyes of the two young people were fixed upon each 
other during the performance: then the girTs dark brim- 
ming ones sought the floor and the rose in her cheeks gave 
place to a slight pallor; she sat down silently by Aunt 
Lotte. Bernard! laid the violin away and took the ap- 
plause quietly. Aunt Katenow alone was dumb. 

“It is an old song,^^ she said at last, “ with however a 
new melody; didnT you say so, Frieda? 

“ Elschen!^^ she then exclaimed as they were finding 
their places in the dining-room and the young girl was on 
the point of taking hers next the officer, “ Elschen, let 
Moritz or Aunt Lotte sit there and you help me here a lit- 
tle, I have rheumatism in my arm again. 

Elsie was ready at once. Moritz, however, looked at his 
mother with surprise; he had a horror of these feminine 
stratagems — and it was all so unnecessary too, he thought. 
There he sat, the dangerous one, apparently interested in 
talking with his pale neighbor; then he cut and peeled an 
orange for Frieda and related anecdotes about the army. 
A lively conversation went on around the table, full of both 
fun and earnestness, till finally Moritz spoke of the cam- 
paign and over that the men grew very warm. 

It had grown late when they arose and Eraulein Annie 
Grammes carriage had been obliged to wait a long time 
outside in the wind and rain; now she wrapped herself in 
her silk and fur cloak and said good-bye in the drawing- 
room. 

“ Lieutenant Bernard!, may I offer you a seat in my 
carriage she asked. 

He stood before Elsie and was talking with her, his cap 

3 


66 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


under his arm. The large room was only dimly lighted, 
hut still Annie saw him draw a slender, half resisting, girl- 
ish hand to his lips. “ Will you drive with me. Lieuten- 
ant Bernardi?^^ she asked again, impatiently, “it is 
already late, and I am in a hurry. 

“ Thank you, friiulein, I think I will walk; it does me 
so much good,^^ he replied, with his most gallant bow. 

Annie Gramm drew her veil over her pale face, and for- 
got to say good-night to Elsie von Hegebach. Moritz took 
her to her carriage and then shook hands with the young 
officer who was just coming down the steps; he stood there 
a little while, looking after the departing guests, then 
glanced across the court and up at the heavens and finally 
remained with his eyes fixed upon two windows in the upper 
story, behind which a light was burning. Suddenly he be- 
gan to whistle a few bars from Boccacio and went into the 
house. 

“ Frieda,^ ^ he said to his pretty little wife, who was Just 
closing the piano in the salon, “ isnT there something in 
the wind?'" 

“ Are you jusk making a discovery, Moritz?" she re- 
sponded, laughing. 

“Yes! With Bernardi and — " 

“ Nonsense! She is too ugly," she interrupted. 

“ No, no; I mean Elsie." 

“Oh! good gracious!" she returned, unmoved, “ if you 
don't know any more than that; that is an utter impossi- 
bility — he does not think of it. " 

“But if she, Elsie--?" 

“ Heavens! I had two love alfairs before I saw you, 
Moritz, and I still live. " 

He did not even hear the last; all at once the words 
which the girl had sung, a little while before, had occurred 
to him. 

“ Es braiist (lurch die Lande der herbstliclie Wind, 

Untren ward der Liebste mir armen Kind.” 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


67 


“ It would be infamous he said, and put his hand over 
his eyes. 

Up-stairs, however, a girl was sitting on the deep win- 
dow-bench, holding her clasped hands over her throbbing 
heart. She was not poor, she was so rich that she would 
not have changed places with any one in the world. Oh! 
was it true that life could be so beautiful. Was it then 
possible that any one could love her so dearly as his eyes so 
plainly told her. She sat there for a long time watching 
the lights of the town, until one after the other was ex- 
tinguished; from the next room came the sound of Aunt 
Lotte ^s regular breathing; she was sleeping so sweetly and 
soundly, and forgot to get up and say to her as she herself 
had indeed forgotten: Child, what are you dreaming of? 
you are only a poor girl.^^ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Out of doors the winter had come; at Christmas the 
snow lay white and glistening on the roofs of the houses 
and over the peaceful country, and it fell almost constantly 
until the new year. The high-roads were as solid and 
smooth as the finest floor, and Moritz had the horses' shoes 
sharpened for they were to have a sleigh-ride, a large sleigh- 
ing party. 

The young Erau von Ratenow, in a dark-blue velvet cos- 
tume, trimmed with fur, was just drawing on her gloves 
before the long mirror in her bedroom. She looked sweet 
enough to kiss, Moritz asserted, and moreover he would be 
delighted with the whole thing if only this unlucky Ber- 
nard! would not want to drive Elsie. 

The young wife almost imperceptibly shrugged her pretty 
shoulders. “ This everlasting anxiety about Elsie! 
Mamma talks of nothing else, and you are as bad; is she 
then so much better than all the other girls?" 


68 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ yes!” replied Moritz, warmly; “ she has a true, ten- 
der heart, and when she feels a thing she does it fully and 
entirely. The little girl is perfectly free from superficial 
trifling or even coquetry.’^ 

“ You appear to have made a very thorough study of this 
girlish soul, ” was the quiet, apparently unmoved answer; 
but Moritz was too well acquainted with the tones of the 
flexible voice not to know that the speaker was vexed. 

“ Frieda! I beg of you! 1 have known her ever since 
the first day of her life, as I know our children !^^ His 
honest eyes gazed with a truly shocked expression into the 
face that looked so blooming under the ostrich feathers on 
her hat — but she quietly fastened the last button of the long 
glove and took up her dainty muff. 

I think the gentlemen are already in the drawing- 
room;^^ then she swept past him without taking the slight- 
est notice of the conciliatory hand which was extended to 
her. 

It was not the first time that Frieda had spoken such 
words; according to her opinion it was intolerable, the way 
they all worried about the girl who was certainly very well 
off. Who would stir a hand for her if she were at home 
with her irritable old father? Mamma Ratenow was always 
emphasizing the fact that she wished .to prevent unhappi- 
ness and Moritz repeated it, like a faithful echo. In fact, 
it was tiresome. What did it amount to if an officer did 
j)ay her some attention? She was only amusing herself; 
they might allow that — there was certainly no danger, for 
— he was altogether too sensible. Bernardi — and Elsie! 
Absurd! 

Frieda^s cheeks were still flushed with displeasure as she 
went into the drawing-room to welcome Captain von 
Franken and Lieutenant Bernardi, the two gentlemen who 
had begged for the honor of driving the ladies. 

The captain, a tall, handsome man and a great admirer 
of the young Frau von Ratenow, sunk laughingly upon one 


A PENNILESS OBPHAN. 


knee and presented her with a bunch of pale yellow, south- 
ern roses. 

Elsie, with a happy face, held a bouquet of violets in her 
hand. 

“ Oh, Frieda, look! snow and ice out of doors and these 
lovely flowers! It is like a dream 

Like a dream, indeed! Life was like a sweet dream! 

The sunlight sparkled and glittered over the snow-covered 
country, the air was clear and cold, and so deliciously pure, 
and the little bells jingled as the train of sleighs flew so de- 
lightfully over the road: how beautiful the world appears 
when happiness dwells in the heart! The brightness of the 
young girEs expression had only been clouded over once; 
that was as they drove down the Eosengasse and she looked 
up at the house where her father lived. He had stood at 
the window in dressing-gown and cap, but he had not re- 
turned the eager salutation and nod of the golden head. 
Papa was always so absorbed in thought. Papa was some- 
times hardly aware that he possessed a daughter. But then 
the music began and they went on talking with each other; 
of nothing at all and still of so much. 

My first name is Bernhard,^ ^ he had said, as he care- 
fully wrapped the warm robe around the young girl. 

“ Bernhard Bernard!!” That sounds lovely, thought 
Elsie. 

Your cousin, Erau von Eatenow, has attended to 
everything for our enjoyment,^^ he went on. “ Imagine! 
Where should we have danced to-night, if not in the^hall 
at the Burg? Charming people, really!” 

‘‘ Where is Annie Gramm? With whom is she driving?” 
asked Elsie. 

He laughed and his white teeth glistened under the black 
mustache. 

“ Ensign Herbard was ordered to that duty.” 

“ Oh, how detestable! Annie is so good!” 

‘^Good! Is that all? That is very little. ” 


70 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ That is a great deal, mein Herr/^ said the young girl, 
with intense earnestness in the child-like brown eyes. 

He could not help looking at her continually, he knew 
every feature of her pure fresh face but it was Such a de- 
light to drive thus with the lovely creature who was so 
different — so — so— he did not know the right word himself 
— so simple-hearted — so kissable — so truly womanly in her 
whole nature. And while his eyes were fixed upon her he 
thought of his home and of his mother, and then he stood 
suddenly in his mother^s old-fashioned parlor and by him 
— stood Elsie. 

“ There go Hunger and Thirst driving together, ex- 
claimed the stout Judge Gelling to Lieutenant von Rost, 
lightly blowing the smoke from his cigar into the cold win- 
ter air, as they followed in the next sleigh. These two had 
no ladies with them; perhaps they did not want any. 
Lieutenant von Rost represented the feminine element, 
and had tied a handkerchief around his arm, and managed 
an enormous dark red fan with great skill. 

“Well, that is endurable on a sleigh-ride; the good 
buffets at the Burg form a comfortable background/^ 
yawned the lieutenant. 

“ Good gracious, the man will never be so mad as to 
have serious intentions questioned the judge. 

“ Eh? how do I know ?^^ yawned the officer, anew; “ it’s 
his affair; he knows as well as the rest of us that the old 
man has nothing. ” 

“ He is going pretty fast, dear Rost, and — by the way — 
he is a man of deep feelings. ” 

“ Yes, but who isn’t? However, there is an end to com- 
fort,” exclaimed the lieutenant, and, with a grimace, 
dropping the eyeglass through which he had anxiously 
watched the couple who were driving before him. 

Moritz came last with a pretty young married woman; 
he was troubled and constantly tried to get a glimpse of 
Erieda and Elsie. 


A PENl^riLESS ORPHAN. 


71 


“ Friuilein von Hegebach is some distance ahead, Herr 
von Katenow. Bernardi is driving her. He is at your 
house a great deal, is he not? ' I am related to a sister of 
his; the father was formerly the county physician here. 
He must have a large practice in B. ; but beyond that, I 
believe, nothing. So many children, you know, Herr von 
Ratenow. 

“ I know the circumstances of his family perfectly 
well,^^ responded Moritz, out of humor, and understand- 
ing very well what she wished to intimate to him. 

‘‘ Oh, indeed! Pardon me, my dear Herr von Hege- 
bach,^^ the young lady begged, looking at him with aston- 
ishment. 

Well, then, they knew at the Burg that he was by no 
means a good parti. In the meantime, a regular uproar 
was raging at the Burg, as Aunt Ratenow said angrily to 
Aunt Lotte. The tables were being arranged in the din- 
ing-room, and the gardeiier had dragged half the contents 
of the hot-house into the hall where they were to dance. 

Promptly on the first of January, Frieda had laid aside 
her mourning; to-day was the first large entertainment, 
and it was certainly an impromptu one. Last evening she 
had come home from a reception with this idea in her 
head, and the first thing in the morning had put all the 
hands and feet in the house in motion. 

Only leave me in peace, said Frau von Ratenow to 
her daughter-in-law. Send the children to me, so that 
they may not be in your way; that is all I will have to do 
with it.^^ 

In Frieda's bedroom the dainty pale blue silk gown lay 
ready for the evening, together with every trifle which she 
would need for her toilet. 

Upstairs in Elsie's room, two aged hands had put out 
the simple white muslin dress which the young girl had re- 
ceived for Christmas, and on the table in front of the old 
lady stood two little bronze shoes, small enough for a 


A PEHNILESS ORPSAlJ. 


child. In perfect bliss, she had fastened rose-colored bows 
here and there; it was assuredly no light matter to prepare 
her adopted child for her first dance. She had then hur- 
riedly arrayed herself in her gray silk, had lighted the 
lamp and taken up one of Ilachlander^s novels. Now she 
was waiting for Elsie, in order to help her, for she would 
be obliged to make a quick toilet. 

By degrees it grew quieter down-stairs; the preparations 
were finished, and the calm before- the storm had com- 
menced. 

But now the sleigh-bells jingled outside. There they 
were, Moritz, Erieda and Elsie, with the whole company; 
it was only a few moments before the girBs light step came 
down the hall, the door was opened, ar^d she stood on the 
threshold, rosy, and apparently out of breath. 

“Good-evening, my dear little auntie she exclaimed, 
throwing both of her arms around the old lady^s neck, and 
bringing a current of fresh, cool, frosty air into the room 
with her. 

“ Was it nice. Mouse? Did you enjoy yourself ? Come, 
drink a cup of tea. ” But the young girl hastily declined 
it, and flew into her own room; she stood there a long 
time in the darkness, and forgot to take off her hat and 
cloak. 

Aunt Lotte finally came in to help her. 

“ But, Elsie, you are standing there still, when it is high 
time for you to dress 

She brought a light and took off the child ^s wraps. 

“ What is the matter, dear, are you crying?’^ 

She did not answer, but began to dress herself; some- 
how the hair would not go up right, the trembling hands 
unfastened the heavy braids three times, and the rose 
would not stay in its place. 

“It is right there said Aunt Lotte. “ You are not 
generally so vain.’^ 

Yes, generally, good Aunt Lotte. She had no suspicion 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


73 


for whom the child was adorning herself. At last she was 
ready. ‘‘Aunt Lotte, I am so frightened to-day.'^ She 
trembled as if with nervousness. 

“ Why! what is the matter, child? You must have 
taken cold when you were in the sleigh. 

“ No, no, do come, auntie 

“ Won^t you take a few drops of eaii-de-cologne, Elsie 
She did not reply. She again stood motionless with her 
eyes looking singularly bright, as she gazed ahead of her 
— at nothing. She seemed to hear her name again, 
“ Elsie, and then a few simple words. “Happiness! if 
this moment is not happiness, what is?’^ 

His voice had faltered so strangely. On the drive home 
he had talked to her about his parents; how good and 
sweet his mother was, how she loved to hear him play on 
his violin. His father had played it once too; he recol- 
lected very well, as a little boy, sitting in his mother^s lap, 
listening attentively, while his father walked up and down 
in the room playing. Sometimes, then, he had let the 
bow fall, and had come over to kiss the mother and child. 
Ah! yes, the little violin had seen much happiness, that 
was the reason why it could sing so sweetly. Ah! happi- 
ness! If this moment is not happiness, what is? 

And then suddenly he had taken her little hand in his, 
and Elsie^s eyes had filled with tears; but beneath the tears 
the young heart laughed and rejoiced, and above them the 
heavens were spread out filled with glittering stars. 

“ Elsie, come, I beg of you!^^ implored Aunt Lotte. 

“ I believe we are the very last ones.^^ 

She followed the gray silk train as if she were in a 
dream; she dreaded seeing him again in the bright light 
down-stairs, and yet her heart beat hard and fast. 

The brilliantly lighted hall and the adjoining drawing- 
room were already filled with guests; card tables had been 
set out in Moritz^s library, and Frau von Ratenow already 
held a pack of cards in her hand. She was talking with 


74 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


an old gentleman, as Elsie came up to kiss her hand. The 
old lady stared at her an instant, in amazement — the girl 
was so beautiful this evening; she stroked her cheek 
almost timidly, and followed her with her eyes as she 
walked through the gay colored crowd; the dainty figure 
in the close-fitting white gown, through which the neck 
and arms gleamed so prettily, and the small head, bent 
just a trifle, and yet so proud. She had stopped by Annie 
Gramm. That young lady looked particularly ill-humored 
and sharp under her crown of white daisies; in her lilac 
gown, with its too elaborate trimming of lace and flowers, 
she had the appearance of a wax figure, which had been 
put in a show window by a modiste in order to draw atten- 
tion to a new costume; everything about her was so ex- 
quisite, from her satin shoes to the costly point-lace fan 
and the diamond butterfly which fluttered and sparkled so 
pretentiously upon the young lady’s thin neck. 

“ What kind of a rig is this present fashion!” muttered 
Erau von Ratenow. “ I wonder how Annie Gramm is 
able to dance in such closely tied skirts. Heaven help us, 
how she looks!” 

The first notes of the waltz had floated through the 
room, and the guests had divided into couples, as if by 
magic; it was a beautiful picture in a rich frame. 

“ Where is Elsie, Lottchen? I don’t see her any 
longer,” said the old lady. There! there!” exclaimed 
the other, who had just entered. “ Ratenowchen, the 
child does not dance, she flies!” she cried in ecstasy, and 
took up her eyeglass in order to follow her darling with 
her delighted eyes. “ Because there is still pleasure in it, 
madame, ” remarked the old lady, with gold spectacles. 
“ Ah! yes, eighteen years old!” 

“Tell me, my dear judge, are you not the counselor of 
the Bennewitzer-Hegebach?” asked Erau von Ratenow. 

“ I have that honor, madame.” 

“ Well?” 


v\ ■•KKKXLF.SS ORPHAir. 75 

“ Well, the major^s complaint is refused, naturally/^ 

‘‘ As a matter of course,^^ nodded Frau von Ratenow, 
“ does he know it yet?” 

“ It was to have been announced to him to-day, ma- 
dame; for the rest, I am curious as to its effect.” 

Frau von Ratenow suddenly looked at the speaker with 
a face full of trouble. “ Do you believe that he will be 
quieted by it?” 

‘‘ Never!” was the reply; ‘‘ so long as the old mad man 
has breath, just so long will he quarrel.” 

The dance was ended, and now the young people came 
back into the adjoining room or else were drawn into the 
delightful nooks under the laurel and orange-trees. Ber- 
nard! had taken Elsie into Frieda^s little boudoir; the girl 
was looking for the mistress of the room in order to help 
lighten her duties as hostess. Nobody was to be seen, un- 
til they discovered the two little fair-haired girls who, in 
very short frocks, were entertaining themselves upon the 
lounge with one of mammals handsome books. Frieda^s 
big mastiff was lying contentedly by them. 

Elsie sat down by the children in one of the low arm- 
chairs, and began to chat with them; the eldest laid the 
book on her knees. They made a lovely picture and she 
felt that Bernard! was looking at her with admiration; she 
glanced up and their eyes met, until she, blushing deeply 
again, dropped her lids. 

“Now we shall soon begin to study,” said the young 
girl, stroking the hair back from the forehead of the 
eldest. 

“ I can read already. Aunt Elsie; listen!” and pointing 
to the letters with her tiny finger, the child read what was 
written under one of the pictures: 

“ Die Minne iiberwindet alle Ding — 

Du lugst! sprach der Pfenning.” 

Elsie looked at the picture; it was an illustration from 
the “ Altdeutschen Witz und Verstand.” A marriage 


76 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


procession was mounting the steps of a church, the young 
l^atriciau leading his magnificently dressed bride, and the 
kindred of both crowding after. At one side stood a young 
girl in miserable apparel who wore no ornament save two 
long golden braids; she had turned her back upon the 
bridal train and was weeping, with her apron over her 
face. 

Bernardi looked at the page over Elsie’s shoulder. 

The little girl asked if he liked the picture, but he did 
not answer. 

“Oh! Bernardi, just a word,” broke suddenly upon his 
ear in the voice of Lieutenant von Rost. He stepped over 
the soft carpet toward his comrade. “ What do you want, 
Rost?” he asked, when they had reached the next room. 

“ Bernardi,” said the ofiicer, taking his glass from his 
eye, “ you and I have always been able to endure an 
honest word from one another; get leave of absence for a 
while, or else exchange into some other regiment, or even 
marry Frilulein Annie Gramm — ” 

Bernardi grew pale to the lips, “ You must explain 
yourself more clearly, Rost — ” 

“ More clearly? Willingly. You have debts, mon ami, 
even if no frivolous ones; you have no rich aunt or uncle 
who can give you a fortune, and although your father 
possesses all possible virtues he has no earthly property. 
Still more plainly,” he added, questioningly. “ Many 
things certainly seem difficult for you to understand; other- 
wise in Ratenow’s constrained conduct toward you, you 
would have seen the universal opinion which prevails with 
regard to your relations in this hospitable house. I cer- 
tainly do not know how far you have gone nor whether 
you can still draw back. You are certain of my sympathy 
if it be true that it is no longer possible. ” 

Without another word he stepped past his friend, and 
went up to Elsie, who was still listening to the children’s 


A PENNILESS OBPHAN*. 


77 


chatter. She had laid the book on the table, and was once 
more in the midst of her happy thoughts. 

“ I have the honor of this dance, Fraulein,^^ said the 
young officer, and with a few jesting words he led her into 
the hall. Bernard! had remained behind in a painful state 
of mind; with a frown on his face he sauntered through 
into the next room, and stopped in the door-way near 
Moritz. Truly, the otherwise so charming man was strik- 
ingly cool to him. It had gone so far then that every one 
was talking of it! 

He stood there stroking his mustache, and mused over 
his entire connection : Kost was right; there was neither a 
rich uncle nor aunt. 

“ Oh, ho! My dear colonel !'' struck his ear, “ that is a 
matter of opinion. 

Frau von Ratenow had spoken in a loud and threatening 
tone. 

He turned around and looked into his host^s room. 
The old lady was sitting at the first whist table opposite 
the colonel of the regiment. She was rapidly dealing the 
cards, and her face had exactly the stern expression which 
was peculiar to her when she was preparing for a contest 
in defense of any one of her opinions. 

‘‘ That is your idea,^^ she repeated, ‘‘ but it is not 
mine! I have already seen too much unhappiness arise 
from this so-called propriety. I will relate an instance to 
you at once.^^ 

She had finished dealing and now laid her folded hands 
upon the cards. It suddenly occurred to Bernard! that she 
was speaking in such a loud tone merely because she had 
perceived him there in the door-way. Involuntarily he as- 
sumed an attentive attitude. 

“ She was my friend, colonel; surely you must have 
known Major von Welsleben and his wife? Well, they 
became acquainted and fell in love with each other when 
they were almost children; you will say, colonel, that at 


78 


A PENKILESS ORPHAIT. 


that apje the prose of life is not taken into consideration. 
Very well! then we should draw the attention of young 
people to the fact that it is their duty to rouse themselves 
from their moonlight idyls of ‘ love in a cottage ’ and look 
around at real life and to acknowledge that they can not 
exist entirely upon love and the perfume of roses. Well, 
they became engaged; it was an endless engagement; he a 
morose man, she a nervous girl, till at last the clergyman 
blessed a sorry marriage. Now it is coming, colonel! You 
see you maintained a little while ago that the proper thing 
for him to do was to become engaged to the girl because 
he had shown her so plainly that he loved her! A pervert- 
ed propriety, my dear sir! My old Johann, who has been 
thirty-two years in my house, and who is not exactly one 
of the cleverest, said to me one evening as he was laying 
the table, ‘ Madame, this cloth can not be used— if I draw 
it over here, then it falls down there; if I push it that way 
then the table shows this side. I have been bothering with 
the thing for a whole hour!’ That was the way with the 
Welslebens; they have been pulling the table-cloth this 
way and that all their lives, but it has never reached far 
enough. Children came; they were more and more strait- 
ened; demands poured-in from every quarter; it was long 
since there had been Joy in the house; even when the bell 
rang the wife would start with fear because she supposed it 
might be one of the bills which had been presented, oh, so 
often, and never paid. She took poor care of herself and 
grew delicate, and then the husband found things more to 
his liking in the club. Now I ask you, my dear sir, 
where — ” 

Bernardi listened no longer; he suddenly appeared be- 
fore Frieda and asked her to waltz. She declined. 

“ My dear Bernardi, take pity upon Friiulein Annie 
Cramm.” He bowed and left the room. 

Elsie’s brown eyes were looking for something — Lieuten- 
ant von Host knew perfectly well what it was; the little 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAiq'. 


79 


one made him unspeakably sorry, as sorry as anything 
could make him. He would gladly have given Bernardi a 
few thousand thalers if he had been able so that the little 
feet might trip along lifers pathway by his side. “ ^Pon 
honor, she was charming 

In the meantime Bernardi was striding up and down the 
garden in furious haste. “ If you can draw back — the 
words rang in his ears. He felt dizzy; it seemed as if he 
could strangle the man who had uttered them; but it was 
true they were all in the right, and that was the devilish 
part of it. Could he still draw back without a sensation? 
Yes, he did not yet break his word, his spoken word — in 
an hour, perhaps, it would have been said. Nevertheless, 
she must have read in his eyes a thousand times as he had 
seen it in her child-like brown ones that they loved each 
other with all their hearts. 

What a prospect, to be sure! The old lady^s description 
was so horribly cheerless, so frightfully true; a miserable 
prospect! He pushed his hair back from his forehead. 
A song had suddenly come into his mind, the simple words: 

“Es braust durcb die Laiide der berbstliche Wind, 

Untreu ward der Liebste mir armen Kind!” 

and he saw again the picture that he had seen a little while 
before, and the weeping girl assumed the form of Elsie 
von Hegebach. No! he could no longer draw back, and 
he did not want to; he could not live if Elsie von Hege- 
bach considered him such a pitiful, faithless fellow. , He 
had held her hand in his in that blissful moment, and he 
thought too sacredly of love, too highly of women — there 
must be some way; if it came to the worst he could leave 
the service. Instantly, with long quick strides, he went 
into the house and through the hall to the card-room. 

“ Madame,^’ bowing before the elder Erau von Bate- 
now, “ may I beg for a few moments^ conversation with 
you?^^ 


80 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


He spoke in a low tone and looked calmly into the clever 
face which was turned toward him in surprise. 

She did not answer immediately, but she laid down the 
cards. “ Go over to my room, I will meet you there, 
she returned just as softly; it was well that the others were 
so busy conversing with each other and that the music had 
just begun again. 

Frau von Eatenow looked after him as he disappeared 
behind the 'portieres. “ Now for it!^' she said to herself. 
“ My dear judge, will you take my cards for a quarter of 
an hour? Yes? thank you!^^ then, choosing the way 
through the ball-room she followed the young man to her 
room; it was only illuminated by one quickly lighted wax 
candle, and through this dusk she beheld a grave white 
face. 

“ Well, dear Bernard!?" 

“ Madame, a little while ago you pronounced a hard 
sentence upon — the — ^ he hesitated. 

“ I know what you mean," she nodded. “ You surely 
do not wish to make me take back what I said?" 

It sounded like a jest, but her eyes were serious, almost 
stern. 

“ Madame does not think it possible, then, that there 
could be exceptions?" he asked. 

“ No!" she returned briefly, seating herself in the near- 
est chair. 

“Not even when a strong, honest purpose is united to a 
heart full of true love?" 

He spoke with deep emotion; and the old lady looked at 
him — almost compassionately. 

“Merciful Heaven! they have all thought that; they 
have all believed it; that is such an easy calculation which 
you lovers are fond of making. " 

“ I would leave the army, madame. It is true, so m^ch 
is demanded from our profession — for the sake of appear- 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


81 


anc^; it is a deplorable lot, that of the poor officers. I 
wouia never offer it to Elsie von Hegebach. I — 

“ ^sie von Hegebach Frau von Ratenow arose and 
stepped toward the young man in her rustling silk gown. 
“ If yoi\ mean Elsie von Hegebach I can only say to you 
she is a ^por girl and would never permit a man to give up 
his profession on her account in order to drag out a dissat- 
isfied and disappointed existence with her! She' is far too 
discreet for that, my dear Bernardi; and I entertain the 
firm conviction with regard to you that you will be honor- 
able enough not to make such a proposal to a child who 
does not yet understand what it means to bind herself 
forever. Until now she has not known the cares of life.-’^ 
She had spoken vehemently, and now continued, “ Do 
you believe, then, that you when you have pulled off your 
gray coat will be able to live like a day-laborer? Nowa- 
days people are pampered too much for that, from their 
youth up. Go on, Bernardi. I should not have deemed 
you so irrational! 

“ I love Friiulein von Hegebach,^ ^ he responded, look- 
ing steadily into the excited face. 

‘‘ Of course! you have plunged in headlong. I have 
seen it coming, unfortunately!^^ 

“ And I am loved in return !^^ 

‘‘ Yes?^^ The old lady tossed her cap-ribbons back im- 
patiently. “ What does such a child know of love? 
DonT say anything more to me about that, Bernardi; at 
that age one has no judgment, and even if — 

“And even if?^^ he repeated, “Madame, and even 
if?^^ 


“ Well, then, she will forget it, Bernardi! Oh, no, 
no, she continued, “ donT do anything so mad! I will 
believe that you have fallen in love with the little one, she 
is a pretty girl; but — ^youfil not die of it! I must beg you 
in all seriousness, my dear Lieutenant Bernardi, to con- 
sider this conversation at an end. It is an impossibility; 


/ 


82 A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 

and neither your parents nor Elsie’s father, neither I nor 
my son, would be pleased with it. I can not produce any 
expressions of great honor — and so on; you know I esteem 
you for a charming officer, Bernardi, and an honorable 
man; don’t make the child unhappy. I mean well by 
you and by her. ” 

“I do not break any given word with Franlein von 
Hegebach; far be it from me to wish her uuhappiness. 
Accept my thanks, madame.” He bowed formally and 
would have stepped through the door. 

“ Stop, Bernardi, I can not let you go so!” exclaimed 
Erau von Eatenow, turning so quickly that the sparkle of 
her diamonds flashed through the dusky room. “ First the 
promise that you will not approach the child any more!” 

‘‘ I shall leave the town as soon as possible, madame.” 

‘‘ Thank you, dear Bernardi.” 

When she had closed the door behind him she stood a 
long time in the same spot with bowed head, then she 
lightly brushed her hand over her foreheM as if she wished 
to drive away unpleasant thoughts. 

‘‘ Pardon me, my friends,” she said a few moments 
afterward in the card-room, I am again at your disposal; 
how is this? We have made nothing, judge?” 

So the evening and the night passed away. They had 
danced together once more. He had been very merry, the 
young ladies thought; the men alleged that he had con- 
soled himself with the champagne more than was absolute- 
ly necessary. The rose-colored bow which had floated 
before his feet as Elsie danced past him had been put into 
his pocket. He had once more clasped the trembling lit- 
tle hands in his own and then had withdrawn with his 
bravest bow and without another look into the longing 
eyes; outside in the street he had thrust his arm into Lieu- 
tenant von Host’s. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, don’t go home yet!” he exclaimed 


A PENJiriLESS OTIPHAK. 


83 


in a loud voice; and so the whole troop of unmarried men 
went to the club. 

“ Well/^ said Dolling to Lieutenant von Rost, and mo- 
tioning to Bernardi, who was talking in loud tones with 
one of his older comrades as if he were trying to drown an 
inward voice, “ what has happened?’^ 

‘‘ Eh,^^ replied the other, “ he has reached the crisis, 
but he will certainly pull through all right 

“ Oh, auntie, don^t go to sleep yet,^^ begged Elsie, who 
had put on her morning-gown and was sitting on the edge 
of the old lady^s bed. 

“ My darling, tell me what it is,^^ said the strangely 
perverse old aunt with the child-like heart. 

“ I love him so unutterably!^^ whispered the pure, girl- 
ish lips. She said no more; they only pressed each other’s 
hands in silence. 

The morning following such a feast is the same every- 
where; tired faces among the women, a little headache for 
the men, the rooms not yet quite in order, the servants 
sleepy; the best is always the breakfast. 

It was nearly twelve when they assembled in the dining- 
room for this repast. Frau von Ratenow was criticising 
severely; she was evidently not in the best humor. Frieda 
yawned a great deal, and Aunt Lotte dwelt in reminis- 
cences and accurately described each toilet. 

Where is Elsie?’’ Moritz asked at last; until that 
moment he had eaten in almost absolute silence. 

“ She is coming directly,” Aunt Lotte assured him. 
‘‘ She wanted to dress herself for the street first; she is 
going to see her father, he is not very well. ” 

“ I believe that!” exclaimed the old Frau von Ratenow. 

Didn’t the child look lovely, cousin?” asked Aunt 
Lotte. 

“ Oh, yes!” was the cool reply. “ By the way, when 
are the lessons to begin?” 

Not just yet,” answered Moritz, quietly. I intend 


84 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


to wait until Easter for that; and now I want to make a 
proposal to you. Aunt Lotte. Suppose you turn your sys- 
tem about this year and go to your cloister now for the 
prescribed eight weeks, and take Elsie with you?^^ 

Aunt Lotte had instantly grown deadly pale. “ Go 
away now!^’ she stammered. When Elsie is so — I 
beg of you, Moritz — 

“ It does not suit me at all,^^ exclaimed Frieda. “ I 
should have preferred to have the little girls learn to sit 
still at least. 

“ Oh, yes, Frieda cried Aunt Lotte, more tragically 
than ever. ‘‘Use your influence! If the child were to go 
now it would be a death-blow to her happiness 

The young wife laughed clearly and merrily. “ Auntie, 
you deserve, wdiile you are still alive, to have a monument 
erected to you under a weeping willow and surrounded 
with roses. 

“ Hearts and sorrows can not always be made to agree, 
Cousin Lotte exclaimed Frau von Ratenow with her 
voice raised; “it would be infinitely painful to me if you 
had rendered assistance in matters which we, with our 
whole strength, have tried to undermine. ” 

The^old lady^s face grew pale. 

“ I have done nothing at all, Ratenowchen,^' she said, 
earnestly and positively. “ Ho one could bring about such 
a thing; that is a miracle sent by God: it comes — 

“ It comes, Frieda interrupted, still laughing, 

“ Es kommt wie Nelkenduft im Winde, 

Es kommt wie durcli die Naclit gelinde, 

Aus Wolken bricht des Mondes Schein!” 

“ Well, yes, of course, exclaimed Frau von Ratenow, 
“ that is very fine to write in an album; in this world it 
depends upon something else: however, do not trouble 
yourselves, she can remain quietly at home and will be 
reasonable.^' 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


85 


How often a girl^s happiness has been wrecked with 
words like that/"’ Aunt Lotte murmured. 

“ It is not exactly a subject for laughter, Frieda!^'’ and 
the old lady’s eyes were raised reproachfully to the beauti- 
ful laughing face of her daughter-in-law. 

That young lady was on the point of replying, when the 
folds of the portiere were drawn aside and Elsie entered. 
Her whole being seemed elevated; one could see it in the 
shining brown eyes and in the rosy cheeks: her ‘ Good- 
morning ’ sounded so fresh and cordial it was as if a 
merry sunbeam had floated through the room. 

“ Your father is not well?” Frau von Eatenow asked, 
kindly. 

Alas, no, dear aunt; directly after breakfast I am 
going to see him.” 

“It is thawing,” warned Moritz, “You should wear 
thick boots.” 

“And when you are back, Elsie, come to my room,” 
added Frau von Eatenow. 

“ A letter from Lieutenant Bernardi.” 

The servant had stepped up to Moritz and delivered a 
note to him. 

Aunt Lotte felt her hand suddenly siezed by a little 
trembling hand. 

Moritz read with a strange expression: he read it again, 
then said, without looking at anybody: 

“ Lieutenant Bernardi sends his adieus to every one; he 
regrets deeply his inability to present them in person, but 
unfortunately time will not allow him to do so. He starts 

at six o’clock this evening for H , where he has received 

a command in place of a comrade who has fallen ill; he 
requests that his violin and also his music be given to the 
bearer of this note, and hopes that the ladies have recov- 
ered from the fatigue of yesterday and that all may hold 
him in friendly remembrance. ” 

“ Bring the violin from the salon,” was Moritz’s order. 


86 


A ?1RK‘KTT.KSS OBPHA^. 


Then he took one of liis visiting-cards from his note- 
book, wrote a few words in pencil, put it into an envelope 
and handed it to the servant who had just returned. 

“ Our adieus to Lieutenant Bernardi!’’ 

The brown eyes gazed after the violin-case, which was 
just disappearing behind the portieres. It had grown so 
still; nothing was heard but the faint clatter of the knives 
and forks. 

“ An angel is flying through the room,^^ they say. 

This time it was an angel of death who broke off a 
beautiful half-opened flower which had just begun to bloom 
so blessedly in a young heart. 

At last Moritz tried to say something; he compelled 
himself to look into the white young face there by his side. 

“ hTow, Elsie, shall we go to town? ' Shall we see about 
the children^’s school-books?^’ 

Involuntarily he moved his hand toward her across the 
table. 

“ Well, we have sat here long enough, children; geseg- 
nete Mahlzeit!” 

Erau von Ratenow arose, and Elsie left the room; she 
went to fetch her wrap, she said, in a low voice. 

“ Eor mercy’s sake, the poor child!” sobbed Aunt Lotte. 
“ She loves him; they are in love with each other.” 

“ Bernardi is a prudent man,” Frau von Ratenow ex- 
claimed. “ Don’t weep! I tell you, Lotte,” she contin- 
ued, ‘‘ I have long known that it would come to this; but 
an old woman like me has old-fashioned ideas. Now it has 
gone so far.” 

“ Good-morning,” cried Frieda, “I am going to dress. 
Too bad that Bernardi is going to leave: our lovely mu- 
sicales 

She vanished into the next room, and Moritz listened as 
she sang, and chatted lovingly with her little son. • 

“ Moritz,” said Frau von Ratenow, “ in the goldsmith 
Thomas’s window there is a little enameled bangle; two or 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


87 


three days ago Elsie saw it and was very much taken with 
it; buy it. You pay for ifc, and I will give you the money 
afterward. Now, then, good-morning.^^ 

“ Pray, go upstairs. Aunt Lotte, and look after the 
girl,’^ Moritz begged, nervously. 

‘‘Is everything over, then? asked the weeping little 
lady ; ‘ ‘ everything?’ ’ 

“ But, auntie, dearest, it can not be otherwise.” 

She turned away and dried her eyes, then slowly mount- 
ed the stairs. 

Elsie sat at the window looking into the garden. The 
snow had melted and fallen from the trees, and the wet 
and black branches were being tossed hither and thither by 
the wind; the heavens were covered with gray clouds, 
while a driving rain shut in the view of the country. 

Aunt Lotte busied herself with her tiled stove, for the 
girl must not be permitted to see that she was weeping; 
and she took a cloth and rubbed it over the polished furni- 
ture upon which there was not the least particle of dust. 
She wanted to say something, but she did not know what. 

The door of the young girl’s bedroom was standing open, 
and in her perplexity the old lady went in there. 

There stood the dainty bed with its white curtains, and 
the little mother-of-pearl crucifix hanging at the head. She 
had brought it back with her . from the Herrnhuter par- 
ish. In the corner by the stove was the doll’s cabinet, 
filled with the pretty toys saved from her childhood’s days; 
and on the table, under the mirror, was yesterday’s half- 
faded bouquet carefully placed in water. The sound of 
the ticking of the clock came from the next room. Aside 
from that, it was uncomfortably still. 

Then she heard a door opened, and Moritz’s voice, as 
gentle as if he were speaking to a child : 

“ Elsie, Elsie! how you look. AYhat is the matter?” 

“ With me? Nothing at all, Moritz.” 

“ You are our good, sensible little girl, Elsie.” 


88 


A PEI^NILESS ORPHAN. 


She jumped up from her chair. 

“ Dou^fc say anything. Hush, Uncle Moritz/^ she cried; 
and, going past Aunt Lotte, who had just entered, and 
had stretched out both hands to her^ she closed the door of 
her own room behind her. 

He turned to the^ window. 

How this grie-vis me. Aunt Lotte! There shegoes,^^ 
he said, after awhile; “ she has on her hat and mantle. I 
ought not to have let her start all alone. Where is she go- 
ing, auntie? She is turning off to the left through the 
garden. 

She always goes that way to the cemetery, Moritz; it 
is nearer, you know; she takes the little path past St. Ger- 
trude^s chapel. 

She was in fact going there. For the moment she hard- 
ly had any decided purpose; the snow was already very 
soft, and the walking tiresome. All at once she was so 
tired, so fearfully tired. 

Hot far from the entrance to the cemetery she saw An- 
nie Gramm coming toward her. That young lady was car- 
rying her skates over her arm, and seemed to be in a great 
hurry as she came across the road in her elegant skating 
costume. 

Good-morning, Elsie; how do you do?^^ 

She cast a searching glance at the girFs white face, from 
under her veil. 

“ Thank you, Annie, very well,^^ she responded. 

“ Are you going to the cemetery? Gracious! what dis- 
mal thoughts for the morning after such gayety!^^ 

Elsie only nodded. 

‘‘ I will go as far as the gate with you, if you will allow 
me. You know, of course, that you have become a very 
celebrated personage since last night, she chattered, as 
they walked. “ Papa came home from the club a little 
while ago, and, fancy! he related as the greatest bit of 
news— I laughed till I was half dead— that Bernard! had 


A PENKILESS ORPHAlf. 


89 


exchanged with Lieutenant P- on your account, be- 

cause he had received a refusal from either your aunt or 
yourself, I don^t know which. I said directly, ‘ Such non- 
sense! Bernard! Now, you know too, Elsie, and will 
not be vexed with me for saying it; he certainly can not 
marry any poor girl.^^ 

The girPs brown eyes were turned upon the speaker with 
such a sad and mournful expression that she was startled 
and stopped speaking, changing her skates from her left 
hand to her right. 

“ Well, good-bye, Elsie, she said, finally; perhaps I 
will come to see you this afternoon. My regards to Frau 
von Eatenow. 

Then she stood by the grave and gazed at it; it was so 
cold and silent; it was only a grave that lay there, dead. 
There was no one in the church-yard except a prying little 
robin redbreast, which was perched near by, and stared at 
her with round, curious eyes. Never had it been so hard 
for her to realize the meaning of this grave, as in this hour. 
The feeling of devotion would not come, as she had always 
felt it before, when she stayed here. 

“ Why do I live? Why didnT they lay me here with 
her long ago?” was the cry of her soul. 

“ You will take cold here, fraulein,” said the old grave- 
digger, who, with his hands in his pockets, came slowly to- 
ward her in his wooden shoes. There is nothing to see 
now, fraulein; but in the spring it will be pretty here; 
then the blue crocuses which you planted will be up.” 

She went back and turned into the town; there was still 
her grumbling old father, and he was ill; she had entirely 
forgotten it during these last hours — these dreadful hours. 
On the street she met Lieutenant von Rost, who, as he 
caught a glimpse of her was startled, she looked so white 
and bowed so absently; he stood still for a moment looking 
after the slender, girlish figure, then went on, softly whis- 
tling— he always whistled when anything troubled him. 


90 


A PENKILESS OKPHAN. 


It’s a good thing you have come, Elschen. Oh! your. 
father, your father!*’ old Siethmann whispered to the 
young girl in the hall. “ We can’t do anything with him 
since yesterday, when the messenger brought the thick let- 
ter, and, more than that, a little while ago, Herr von 
Hegebach sent in his name, and now he is furious!” 

Elsie went into the room, and up to the old man. He 
was sitting in his arm-chair by the window, his pipe lay on 
the table, and in his hand he held a rumpled letter. 

“ So you have come at last, Elsie. I might perish and 
die here, and still it is all on your account that T have this 
vexation with this cursed business!” 

She made no reply to the unjust reproach. 

I will stay with you, papa, if you would like to have 
me,” she said, after a pause. 

Ho; I don’t want that at all; you know that can not 
be. But I must talk with you; you must know that there 
is no more justice, that they brought beggary back to me 
again yesterday, because — well, because it is I. If the Ben- 
newitzer were I, and I were he, then of course the bread 
would not fall on the buttered side.” 

Elsie was silent; her head ached, and she was utterly in- 
different to anything that might happen now. 

“ But may the devil take me if I leave the thing where 
it is! I will go further, even if I have to carry it to the 
Supreme Court of the empire, and starve in consequence! 
And what do you think?” he continued, striking the table 
with his clinched hand, this man, who has no more. right 
to the estate than I have, has again offered me charity, and 
sends me word that he will see me himself to-day! Would 
you have believed such a thing possible? He ought to 
come; Siethmann had better show him in; I am in precise- 
ly the right mood!” 

Ah! wasn’t it horrible, comfortless, and desolate in the 
world? In the world where everything only turned upon 
possessions; in the world where even the purest and noblest 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 


91 


feeling of the heart must yield to the most paltry interests! 
The girl loathed wealth and the power of money; her 
faith, her love, her ideal had all been trodden in the dust; 
and must she live so? 

She put both hands up to her temples as the old man be- 
gan to scold again. 

Papa, let it go!"^ she begged. ‘‘ It is all the same. I 
need nothing. 

Both were silent. Elsie stood by the stove and looked 
around the cheerless, smoky room, mechanically listening 
to the dripping of the snow-water in the gutter. Occa- 
sionally some sound from the street was audible. 

After a few moments she heard footsteps. The house 
door was opened, and some one came up the stairs. She 
left the room. 

“ Please stay down-stairs, Herr von Hegebach!^^ she 
begged, softly, as she leaned over the balusters. 

‘‘ Why? I must speak with my cousin.-’^ 

“ Papa is so excited,^ ^ she returned. 

‘‘ You look pale, dear fraulein. Would it be unpleasant 
to you if I — 

“ Papa is ill, I think, she objected. 

“ May I speak with you, my dear fraulein?^ ^ 

“ With me? Oh, yes; but — 

‘‘ Where ?^^ he continued. 

Indeed, I did not know — 

Siethmann approached, and unlocked a door. 

“ It is in good order and not very cold, Elschen. 

The room in which they now stood was small; in the 
background was the old woman ^s store of apples, a chest 
painted with many-colored glaring flowers, and a cup- 
board, besides, two spinning-wheels and a reel, and over 
the whole hung the^dor of the fruit. The last pale gleam 
of the afternoon light pierced through the window and il- 
luminated the noble face of the Bennewitzer-Hegebach. 

I have come in order to talk with your father once 


92 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


more; he is only making unnecessary agitation and ex- 
pense for himself, fraulein. Do be persuaded that he will 
have no success with the new proceeding, and that I la- 
ment it deeply that he — ^ ' 

“ I have not the least influence over papa, Herr von 
Hegebach,^' Elsie replied. 

“lam sorry for that; but you can perhaps say to him 
that I am prepared to carry out my former proposal at any 
time.^^ 

“ Papa accepts no money as a gift,^^ was the cool an- 
swer. 

“ But why do you take it that way:^^ he asked, likewise 
growing cooler. “ I simply offer him the interest upon 
capital which I am unable to draw out from the property. ” 

“ I understand nothing, mein herr,” was her reply. 

“ In spite of that, you ought to defend my views to your 
father; in his interest and in your own, my dear little 
cousin. 

“ In papa^s interest? He wishes nothing for himself; 
and, as for me, I decline with thanks. 

“ Only girls of your age feel like that who do not yet 
know what it means. 

“ To have no money? To be poor?^^ the young girl in- 
terrupted him questioningly, while the whole bitterness of 
her soul was expressed in her quivering lips. “ I under- 
stand it, Herr von Hegebach; one learns that early in life. 
If God were just. He would not create poor girls, or at 
the least He would allow them to come into the world, 
alike without feeling and^ without hearts 

He had involuntarily stepped back, staring at the little 
mouth that had spoken these Jsvords and which was drawn 
with pain. ^ 

“ Whence comes this bitterness?^‘^vhe asked Anally; 
“ other girls of your age only weep at the niostx. \t ^ disap- 
pointment overtake them.^’ 

“ I have no cause for weeping, she replied shortly. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


93 


» “ I do not like to go away so, Elsie von Hegebach/ ' he 
began after a pause; “ it seems to me as if I were doing 
wrong to leave you in this bitter mood. Promise me, at 
least, to take what I said a while ago into consideration; 
it is no charity — it is a right which is due you. 

‘‘ I do not believe that papa — 

But you, yourself?’^ 

“I? Oh, I have passed the ‘ teachers^ examination!^^ 
The old, hard tone again : it sounded almost scornful. 

“You have your father^s obstinacy he said, seizing 
his hat. “ To whom shall I turn who possesses any power 
over you?^^ 

“lam afraid you will seek in vain for such a personage, 
Herr von Hegebach.^^ 

“ Adieu, fraulein!’^ She bent her head slightly — and he 
was gone. 

When the girl was left alone she leaned her forehead 
against the whitewashed wall; a groan sounded through the 
room, and the slender form shook as if in a tempest. 

“ Who was there?^^ the old man asked sullenly, as she 
returned to him. 

“ The Bennewitzer, papa.^^ 

“ And you didnT allow him to come to see me?^^ 

“ I told him that you were not well; he wanted to offer 
you the annuity once more.^’ 

“ May the devil — exclaimed the old man, flying into a 
passion, “ it is the surest evidence that he is standing on 
slippery ground. 

‘‘ Shall I stay with you, papa? Will you have some 
more tea?^^ she asked. 

“ No, I am going to bed; I don’t feel well.’’ 

“Let me stay with you then!” She had stej^ped close 
up to him in the darkness and now her hands lay on his 
shoulder. 

“ Eh, what is it, Elsie? See, what would you do here?” 
It sounded almost gentle. 


94 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ I often think I belong to you, papa.^^ 

Yes, yes! However, then I ought not to be a beggar, 
child I” 

“ Couldn’t it be arranged in some way, papa?” 

She received no answer. 

‘‘Just see, Elsie,” he said finally, “ the Bennewitzer has 
neither chick nor child, and if it had only happened right, 
then you would have had everything — yes — but because you 
are a girl — it stands exactly so in the base will; ^daughters 
are entirely cut off from the inheritance — ” 

She knelt down by him and laid her head on his hand. 

“ And,” he continued, “ it still frets me every day that 
you are not a boy — not on my account — on yours — your 
mother cried with horror because you were a girl. Her last 
words were ‘Oh! a girl, a poor little girl!’ ” and now it is 
so; you must see yourself how it has turned out, child. 
But promise me — one thing — when I am dead. I have 
certainly done nothing to make you love me very much — 
Aunt Ratenow and Moritz — but one can’t choose one’s fa- 
ther in this world, Elsie.” 

“ No, papa, and I can’t help it that I am a poor girl,” 
she said, like a child, and two big tears fell on the old 
man’s hand. 

“ Well, child, don’t cry, don’t cry!” He was nervous 
again already. “You must go now, Elsie, it will soon be 
dark. ” 

She rose and looked for her coat and hat. “ Good-nighty 
papa; if I have time I will come again soon. I am to 
begin the lessons to-morrow.” 

Once more she went through the dark, muddy street; at 
other times she had always been afraid at this hour, but to- 
day she did not even think of it. The wind had risen and 
was rushing down the long avenue and the fine rain pene- 
trated through her veil cooling her cheeks and eyes. She 
walked as slowly as though it were a May evening. Sud- 
denly a carriage turned out of the Burg gate and drove 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


95 


rapidly past her; it was the Bennewitzer^s trap. So he had 
at all events paid Aunt Ratenow a visit, perhaps in order 
to find an ally in her. 

“ If I could die, then it would be well for me,^^ fiashed 
through her mind. She was obliged to go into the house 
and she would so much rather run away as far as her feet 
could carry her. 

‘‘ Fraulein, will you be kind enough to go directly to 
Frau von Ratenow,’^ said the servant at the door. She 
gave him her hat and coat and went in. 

Frau von Ratenow was sitting on the sofa; a bottle with 
two glasses stood on the table and the odor of a fine cigar 
still lingered in the air. 

How is your father?^ ^ she asked, motioning to the girl 
to take a seat. 

‘‘ Thank you, he is moderately well.^'’ 

‘‘ You look pale; that is caused by dancing, Elsie. 

“ Yes, aunt.^^ 

“ See! here comes the little white mouse, said the old 
lady, laughing at the dainty maiden who came solemnly 
through the room toward Elsie, with an expression of great 
consequence. 

‘‘ From grandmamma, auntie,'^ she whispered and laid 
a small, heavy object in her lap, then ran quickly back to 
her place of concealment. It was a smooth hoop of black 
enamel which Elsie held in her hand. 

You are so good, dear aunt,’^ she said, looking at her 
with the beautiful brown eyes; they had been no longer 
child’s eyes since the morning; and she kissed the prof- 
fered hand: “ I shall wear it as a token of your love.” 

“ I wanted to ask you to do so, Elsie. Now you may go 
— by the way — the Bennewitzer left his regards for you.” 

When she got to her own little room she laid the bracelet 
away; she wished for no pity, she felt she could not endure 
it. As if a little bit of a toy or an ornament could take 
away her lieartache and the insupportable longing. She 


9G 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


would gladly have stayed alone, but then they would think 
she was crying about him, and she would not shed a single 
tear on that account, not one. 

But itv happened nevertheless. All at once she was con- 
scious of a sweet perfume, the fragrance which had floated 
about her so deliciously yesterday. There were the violets, 
his violets, and it seemed as if they spoke with his voice. 

“ Happiness — is not this moment happiness? she sud- 
denly sobbed aloud, it sounded like a cry of pain, and the 
next instant the sitting-room door was opened and Aunt 
Lotte held the trembling girl in her arms. Aunt Lotte 
knew all. She could be permitted to see that her heart 
was broken, wholly broken. 


CHAPTER IX. 

About a fortnight had passed, when one morning Aunt 
Lotte came down the stairs and asked for Moritz. He 
was with ills wife, the servant reported, and the old lady 
stepped through Frieda ^s blue salon and asked, as she stood 
by the portieres : “ Do I disturb you, child?^^ 

“ Always come in. Aunt Lotte, called Moritz. Frieda 
sat at her writing desk. “Just a moment, aunt,^^she 
begged, and she read over again a dainty letter, ornamented 
with a crest. 

“ My dearest Lili, — O nly a few words in great haste, 
in order that you may be au fait with regard to my ball 
toilet for Berlin; as we shall naturally be much together, 
I have ordered at Gerson^s a white satin gown with silver 
embroidery, the corsage of ‘ drap d ^argent, ^ and shall wear 
my diamonds instead of flowers; I think it will be more 
distinguL Moritz and mamma insist upon it that Elsie 
shall go with us; lately she has grown more than tiresome 
(a cause de Monsieur Bernardi). Mamma will send her in 
a pink silk frock. I have by this time had enough of this 


A PENITILESS ORPHAN. 


97 


Elizabeth worship and shall plainly express my opinion to 
Moritz. I beg you, Lili, with all my heart, never to take 
a young girl into your house, who has, as it were, family 
privileges; it is more than horrible, especially when the 
master of the house feels himself bound to play the part of 
the father and at the same time that of the knight, as 
Moritz does. My patience will not hold out much longer. 
Love to mother and father — Auf wiederschen, 

“ Your sister, 

“ Erieda.^^ 

P.S. — The Bennewitzer comes remarkably often now- 
adays. On this point I have no confidence in my mother- 
in-law; she says it is for the sake of Elsie’s father. As for 
that, there is an old adage, which, however, I will not write 
here. F. ” 

Well, auntie, what is the trouble?” she asked after she 
had addressed and sealed the letter. She went up to a 
pretty little cabinet, drew out all the drawers and prepared 
to make an inspection of her jewels. She wore alight-blue 
morning gown and had a little lace cap with blue bows on 
her luxuriant black hair. 

Oh! dear,’’ Aunt Lotte commenced, turning to Moritz, 
who sat motionless before the fireplace, in a gray cloth coat 
and top-boots, as he had come in from the farm. “ Oh 
dear, Moritz, my heart is ready to break about Elsie. She 
does not complain, she says nothing, she does not sleep, she 
eats nothing at all and she is growing so thin; won’t you 
send the doctor up to me when he comes? I am afraid she 
will grieve herself sick over this Bernarili.” 

‘^Is not the comedy at an end yet?” asked Frieda. 

“ What does she want? Elsie seems to be perfectly satis- 
fied; it is natural that she should feel a little shy about 
going out, as she was the talk of the town for a week.” 

‘‘ Yes, she bears it very well, Frieda,” said the old lady, 
nodding her head earnestly, but — 


98 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


“ Well! you all do enough to console her/^ Frieda con- 
tinued with irritation, and laying a costly gem in its case a 
trifle roughly. “ Nobody asks any more if anything suits 
me, but it is always Elsie. Mamma does it, so do the chil- 
dren and Moritz as well; I am no longer able to say what I 
want and how I wish it. Soon I shall not speak a single 
word at the table. 

Aunt Lotte looked at Moritz with perfect horror as he 
leaned back in his chair so calmly. 

You see, aunt, Frieda knows it is very becoming to 
her to pout a little. But you must not inflict that dread- 
ful caprice upon me in Berlin, child, for — 

“ If you insist upon Elsie ^s going too, then I will stay at 
home, with my ill-humor. 

‘‘ You must settle that with mother, he rejoined, 
quietly. “ It was her desire that Elsie should accompany 
us.^^ 

Then I can not go, on account of the children,^’ his 
wife persisted; “ anyway I can not conceive why I have a 
governess if I am not able to leave home once in a while in 
peace. 

“ Until now the old head nurse has been able to take the 
responsibility. But just as you like, Frieda, I have never 
yet disputed with you when you were pleased to be obsti- 
nate, you know that. To-day is the last in which Elsie 
shall officiate as governess, this very hour I will take steps 
toward engaging some one else. 

Frieda was silent and slowly closed one drawer after the 
other. 

“I make only one request, Frieda, he began again, 
“ don’t let the girl suspect why this arrangement is made 
— we will see about the rest.” He had risen, and now tak- 
ing up his cap and rifling whip from the chair he left the 
room. In the same instant his young wife covered her face 
with her hands and burst into tears. 

“Oh! Aunt Lotte, I am so awfully unhappy!” 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


99 


The whole scene was entirely beyond the comprehension 
of the good old lady. 

“ For Heaven^s sake, Frieda, what is the matter?^ ^ 

“ He no longer loves me!^^ sobbed the beautiful woman, 
throwing herself into a chair. “ I know only too well that 
he does not love me any more!’^ 

“ Good gracious, surely you are not jeal — The whole 
word would not cross the lips of the terrified old lady. 

“And now he has gone to mamma — to mamma who 
always treats me as if I were an unreasonable child 

Suddenly she 'jumped up; the blue poWteres separated 
and Frau von Eatenow, in all her dignity, crossed the 
threshold. 

“Well, Frieda! I have just heard from Moritz that 
you are not feeling well,’^ she began, sitting down by her 
weeping daughter. 

Frieda stammered out something about headache. 

“ Of course The old lady took her hand. “ It is too 
much for you, this noise and tumult of the children all day 
long; nowadays it is the fashion to have nerves. I will, 
however, make a proposition to you; send the little girls 
to school, then there will be a heavenly quiet in the house, 
my daughter, and you need not bother yourself any longer 
about a governess. What do you think of it?’’ 

The young woman rose quickly from her reclining posi- 
tion in the arm-chair, but she made no reply. 

“ Elsie Hegebach will remain in the house as my com- 
panion, dear child, continued the old lady, with a raised 
voice, “and as such I shall know how to protect her from 
all mortification, Frieda 

Frieda had grown slightly pale. “I did not mean it 
that way,^^ she said, weeping again. 

“ Where is Elsie? asked the mother-in-law. 

“ In the nursery; she is giving an arithmetic lesson, 
was the reply, spoken in a low tone. 

“ I hope you will all take tea with me this evening,^^ 


100 


A FENKILESS ORPHAK. 


continued Frau von Katenow. “ Aunt Lotte, be on time, 
please; the Bennewitzer will be there/^ 

‘‘ The third time in a fortnight!’^ remarked Frieda, ris- 
ing. “ He never used to come, or any way very seldom.'’^ 

“ Certainly! For years he had an invalid wife, and un- 
til now he has been in deep mourning. Shall I have the 
pleasure of seeing you this evening?^ ^ she asked again. 

“ I regret exceedingly, mamma, but we are to take tea 
with Frau von Z 

‘‘ Elsie also?’^ 

‘‘ She was invited, but declined. 

“ Well, it is to be hoped she will not refuse me!” And 
the old lady nodded to her daughter-in-law in the most 
friendly manner. ‘‘ Good-bye, my sweet child; send the 
little ones for awhile, if you are willing. ” 

NoW' donT you see, auntie, mamma is always like 
that!^' complained Frieda. “ Every one will concede tliis 
point; if Elsie has undertaken to instruct the children, she 
ought to do it thoroughly; I am the last one who would 
demand anything unreasonable from her. If my patience 
has given out it is no wonder. I think that at last the 
little girls are learning something, then Moritz comes and 
says: ‘ Elschen, we are going to the subscription ball in 
Berlin ; mother intends to give you a new gown for it. ^ 
How can she be devoted and earnest?^ ^ 

I do not think that Elsie wanted to accept your kind- 
ness, Frieda,’^ said the agitated old lady, defending her 
protegee. She was, however, still obliged to listen to a 
long lament. Frieda was so injured on all sides. She 
meant to do as she had said, and not utter a syllable at the 
table. 

Long ago there had been signs of a thunder-storm in 
Moritz’s matrimonial heaven, and now it had burst upon 
them, a sultry atmosphere pervaded the house in spite of 
the clear, frosty weather out of doors. Elsie did not notice 
it; she always had one of the little girls on either side of 


A PENKILESS ORPHAN. 


101 


her, and was sufficiently occupied in answering their ques- 
tions. 

At firsir Moritz had not wished to have the children come 
to the table; but Elsie had thought it best for them, and 
so it had been allowed, to the great joy of the little ones. 

“ Yes, really; she did look ill, and she was quiet too; 
that all came from her struggles with a proud, grieved 
heart; the eternal mute question, “ Why has it come to 
me.^^^ That brought the sleepless nights and the torment- 
ing longing for the lost golden days; she seemed to herself 
like a pariah among all the rest, comfortless and thrust 
forth, and only because she was poor. The brown eyes 
could not weep as they say in the song of “ Poor Magde- 
lein.^^ Ah! of course there was still a great deal left in 
the world which made life worth living; hundreds and 
hundreds shared her fate and were finally calm and con- 
tented with hard work — without happiness. But they had 
all trodden a path of nettles, of thorns, in order to reach 
that point; a tired, unhappy young heart can not be rocked 
into the sleep of oblivion in a few days; long, long years 
are needed for that! 

In the evening the most comfortable room in the whole 
house was Frau von Eatenow^s parlor; the porcelain stove 
crackled and sung in every key, the heavy curtains were 
drawn together before the windows, keeping out all 
draughts, and were laid in proud folds upon the thick, soft 
carpet; the lamp-light was reflected in the silver and crystal 
oh the snow-white damask cloth, while Aunt Lotte and 
Erau von Eatenow were seated upon the sofa, the latter 
with her knitting in her hands. Elsie, busied with her 
work, sat near a small table, upon which the silver kettle 
was steaming; she wore a dark house-dress with a dainty 
little embroidered apron. The Bennewitzer was expected. 

To Elsie these hours with the Bennewitzer were nearly 
unendurable. She had such mixed feelings with regard to 
him. Since her father recently had spoken his first kind 


102 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


words to her, her childlike heart was filled with affection 
for the sullen man. She knew that he did not treat his 
cousin justly, but he had said that he did it for her sake, 
and that annulled everything in the girl^s eyes: his ill hu- 
mor, his obstinacy, his small interest in her. He had, long 
since, again become as inaccessible to her as formerly, but 
she had once had a glimpse of his embittered heart, and 
now no word was too harsh for her, no mood too gloomy; 
it was only the dross of trouble and loneliness over the gold 
in the heart of the old man ; he was nevertheless her fa- 
ther, the one being upon whom she had a claim, an in- 
violable claim. 

For this reason the Bennewitzer was a torment to her; it 
is true that until now he had never mentioned her father, 
during his visits at the Burg; but in spite of that she knew 
what he thought of him and what Aunt Ratenow^s opinion 
was, and the knowledge made her unspeakably miserable. 
Besides, Aunt Eatenow praised the Bennewitzer so ex- 
traordinarily; Aunt Ratenow always had such strong, out- 
spoken likes and dislikes, and one dared not object to 
them, for the old lady could never be convinced. 

“ Good or bad, there is nothing between them!^^ she was 
accustomed to say. She recognized no middle course; it 
was foreign to her whole nature. Bernardi^s name had 
never again been upon her lips; the thing was settled once 
for all; the less it was spoken of, so much the better! A 
wound must bleed, she supposed; but that could be done 
in silence without people's observing it. 

“ Elsie," she began, in her deep voice. She pushed her 
spectacles back and let her newspaper drop. “You may 
read that to me; my eyes grow worse every day. I do not 
know, Lottchen, how you have preserved yours so well, 
with your everlasting reading. It is a real comfort to me 
that Moritz has granted my request, and taken the in- 
struction of the children away from you, Elsie. Actually, 
I am neither able to read the newspaper in tEe morning nor 


A 1‘ENKILESS ORPHAN. ' 103 

even to write a letter without making positive crowds 
tracks/^ 

Elsie took up the paper. “ If I only had the comfort 
of knowing, dear aunt, that Moritz and Frieda were not 
dissatisfied with my efforts as governess. 

Aha, that is the way they question people when they 
want to hear something fine,^’ returned the old lady. 
“ No, no, it is true I made the request of Moritz! What 
do you mean? What more could there be than what ap- 
pears on the surface? Here comes the Bennewitzer,^^ she 
exclaimed, interrupting herself. A carriage had rolled 
arcoss the court and stopped before the entrance; steps 
were heard in the vestibule, and Frau von Ratenow rose 
with a certain ceremony. 

“Good-evening, my dear Hegebach!’^ she exclaimed, 
shaking his hand vigorously, “ I am glad you are willing 
to while away the time a little with us three lone women. 

He kissed the outstretched hand gallantly, and saluted 
Aunt Lotte and Elsie. To the latter he handed a little 
white paper cornucopia. “ The only one which was in 
bloom in the hot-house,^^ he said, politely. It was a 
superb Marechal Niel, the graceful stem bending under the 
weight of the beautiful yellow flower. 

“ Thank you very much, Herr von Hegebach!^^ She 
put the rose into a little vase, and busied herself about the 
tea-table. 

“ Nothing new, dear Hegebach?^^ asked Frau von Rate- 
now, and with that they were in conversation. Both knew 
the whole country round about, and from the present they 
went back to the old days. “ I beg your pardon, my dear 
Hegebach, I am ten years older than you, exactly your 
cousin^s age. I know that to a certainty. 

“ No, you are mistaken, madame,^^ he answered, quiet- 
ly, “ at the most you are eight years older; I was thirty-six 
when I married, and eighteen years have passed since that 
time. Imagine! my eldest boy was already a senior. 


104 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ Positively, how time flies, Hegebach!^^ 

“ Truly, truly. Elsie will be nineteen in the spring,^^ 
Aunt Lotte calculated. 

“Well! there are older people than ourselves, Hege- 
bach; you are a young man yet/’ said Frau von Eatenow. 

Aunt Lotte glanced at him; he looked stately and dis- 
tinguished, and also strong, but young. She had not been 
young for a long time, and she could riot count many more 
years either. Men had altogether too much advantage in 
that respect, she thought. 

Elsie sat among them in silence, her thoughts far away. 
What did she care for old stories of long ago? That was 
all so far off, so infinitely far back in the mist of the past. 
A tormenting, nervous restlessness took possession of her, 
as it had often done before; she would have been so glad 
to go up to her own little room, to sit by the window and 
think and dream — it was so frightfully hard not to yield to 
the sad, longing thoughts — just to answer, only to listen. 

“ How is your father asked the Bennewitzer, leaning 
toward Elsie, over the arm of his chair. 

“ Tolerably well, I believe, thank you,^^ she replied. 

“ And not yet inclined to be more charitabler^^ He 
said it gently, and his dark eyes looked into hers with a be- 
seeching expression. She blushed suddenly. “ Papa does 
not alter his opinions in a night,^^ she said, calmly and dis- 
tinctly. 

Frau von Eatenow’s face darkened. “Elsie, will you 
be kind enough to order the tea?^^ 

The young girl rose, stepped noiselessly over the soft 
carpet and vanished into the adjoining room. Herr von 
Hegebach followed her with his eyes, stroking his dark 
beard with his well-formed white hand. 

Frau von Eatenow immediately introduced another sub- 
ject, evidently wishing the harsh reply to be forgotten, and 
when Elsie returned to the room they were again in an 
animated conversation. 


A PEITl^ILESS OEPHAIT. 


105 


Herr von Hegebach was a delightful companion^ for he 
had traveled a great deal, and was, in one way and an- 
other, connected with a multitude of people of distinction 
and renown. He talked of Lapland and of Lebanon, and 
he talked well; he had tasted of the best wherever he had 
been; he had wandered and sketched by the Nile, and had 
stood by Niagara; he was a man who was acquainted with 
the best side of life. 

And yonder in the cheerless house sat a lonely old man 
who had never possessed money enough to allow him to 
travel simply as far as the mineral baths for his health. 
He might easily have spent several weeks in Teplitz for the 
sum which his cousin had given in Cairo for a single 
dagger. Those were hateful bitter thoughts which were 
interwoven behind Elsie ^s white forehead. Everything in 
which she had believed until now: love, fidelity, generosity, 
all were laughably obsolete. Nowadays only one thing 
brought happiness, only one thing gave power — money — 
wealth. 

“To a speedy friendship, my dear little cousin The 
Bennewitzer lifted his glass. . She took her own, and they 
struck them lightly together in the German fashion. 

Once more her face flushed scarlet; she was vexed with 
herself, but his eyes had such strange glances. 

“ Stay here, Elsie Frau von Ratenow exclaimed 
about eleven o^clock, when the Bennewitzer had driven 
away, but not without having first secured the promise 
that the ladies would soon pay him a visit at Bennewitz. 
Elsie turned back and sat down again. Aunt Lotte had 
excused herself on the stroke of ten. 

Frau von Ratenow looked angry and still did not know 
how to begin. “ You have a remarkable manner of treat- 
ing the Bennewitzer, my dear child,^^ she finally said; “ it 
as a rule is ridiculous for you to bear a grudge against 
him on account of a foolish fancy of your father^s. You 
should, at least, remain neutral. 


106 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ I understand that Herr von Hegebach is entirely in 
the right, aunt,^^ replied Elsie, looking straight at the old 
lady in astonishment. “ I begrudge him nothing, that 
would be absurd. 

“ Good! but why are you so arrogant with him?^’ 

“ I beg your pardon, aunt,^-^ she faltered. 

Frau von Eatenow arose and took her hand. “ I 
don^t know whether you are different from others or not; 
you don^t belong among those whose comprehension is 
dull. Good-night, Elsie. 

The girl flew up the stairs and into her room as if she 
were pursued. No! it was not possible! that was not what 
her aunt wanted to say, that thought which had flashed 
through her mind so horribly in that instant. But what 
was it then? On a sudden she laughed, but the laughter 
was scornful; it sounded strange to herself; then she went 
and stood before the mirror and gazed at her pallid face. 
Of course it was absurd; only an excited imagination could 
suggest such foolishness. No! aunt had not wished to say 
anything to her; it had only been her characteristic way of 
speaking. 

“ Aunt Lotte !^^ she then called softly. It seemed as if 
she were afraid of her own thoughts, and so she went into 
the old lady^s painfully neat bedroom. 

“ What is it, my treasure ?^^ was the sleepy answer. 

“ I am so frightened, auntie!’^ 

Aunt Lotte, wide awake now, sat straight up in bed. 
“ I have been so strongly reminded of your mother this 
evening, child, she commenced. “ We used to sit just 
so, in Cousin Eatenow ’s salon when your father was woo- 
ing her. You look so exactly like her, Elsie, and the Ben- 
newitzer resembles your father in some ways; his voice and 
the motion of the hand over the beard, you know, and 
then he always looked at her just so silently. 

The girl was motionless; an inexplicable fear seemed to 
take her breath away. 


A PEJTKILESS ORPHAK. 


107 


“ That was almost twenty years ago, Elsie, and to me it 
seems like yesterday,” the old lady continued in her 
lamenting, weeping fashion, “except that your Aunt 
Ratenow has grown much more stout and that my hair is 
perfectly white — how often the past becomes a living 
reality! Lieschen — ^your mother— came to my bed just so, 
and once too — I remember it distinctly — she said, ‘ Lott- 
chen, Lottchen, I am so frightened!^ 

“Auntie, I pray you, I am terrified/' The slender, 
girlish figure, which was now standing close by the bed, 
was shaking with nervousness. 

“ You are not well, Elsie!” 

“No, I really believe I shall be sick next!” 

“ Poor child! ^grief has caused it.” 

“ I do not mourn, auntie!” 

“ I well understand that, child; but one does it without 
wishing to. When the doctor comes to-morrow he shall 
give you something to make you sleep; I have already 
spoken to Moritz about it. Do you think I don't notice it 
when you read far into the night? I hear every page you 
turn over. Good-night, darling, go to sleep! In old times 
I could stay awake so late, but now — '' 


CHAPTER X. 

Weeks had passed and now the spring was coming. 
Eor a long time a disagreeable east wind had been blowing, 
rushing along in the face of the clear blue sky and bright 
sunshine, which tempted people out of the house; when 
they were once ^ut, however, it tossed coughs and colds at 
them as if by magic, leaving them to retreat in disappoint- 
ment and pity the flowers which had rashly ventured forth. 

Now, however, a warm fragrant spring breeze had come; 
gray clouds chased each other across the heavens, and rain- 
and sunshine ruled by turns. 


108 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


The buds were swelling and bursting on all the bushes, 
the lawn at the Burg was blue with violets, and in the 
cemetery, on the grave which belonged to Elsie, the 
crocuses were in full bloom. 

Elsie had just wound a wreath around the cross which 
bore her mother^s name. To-day was the anniversary of 
the mother’s death, and it was also her birthday; a thorn 
branch in the garland of the girl’s life, a dark gloomy link 
which bound her existence so closely with death. She sat 
for a long time on the stone border of the grave, her hands 
mechanically arranging the leaves of the wreath, while her 
eyes looked off over the stones and crocuses into vacancy. 

At last her life had become an eternal worldly struggle 
with herself and with all the others; she had no one left 
upon whom she could rely; all had turned against her — 
even Moritz; she felt it. Moritz must be vexed with her, 
for he certainly avoided her; and Frieda was so dreadfully 
heartless sometimes. 

“ She has never had a sorrow in her life,” Frau von 
Eatenow had said; “ she is a spoiled child, and as such 
one should not lay it up against her any more than a 
grown person should be offended at the rudeness and 
naughtiness of children. ” , 

As for Aunt Lottie, she had suddenly set out for her 
cloister. One day after an interview with Cousin Eate- 
now she had come up stairs with red eyes and had packed 
her box. The severe couvsin had signified that it would be 
better for this year if Lotte were to stay at home during 
the summer and spend the prescribed eight weeks in the 
cloister at present. Yes, and what Aunt Eatenow said 
must always be done. 

Frieda’s sister Lili was paying her a visit. She was a 
little brunette, not so pretty as Frieda, but with a most 
bewitching laugh; and she understood even better than her 
sister how to turn the house upside down. 

Frau von Eatenow maintained that she was a new-fash- 


A PEiq-I^ILESS OKPHAK. 


109 


ioned will-o^-the-wisp, and said that it was a good thing 
she had become so intimate with Annie Cramm, for they 
would make a suitable team. 

However, in spite of the numerous distractions which 
occupied their time, Fraulein Lili was invariably to be 
found in “ dear, delightful Prau von Eatenow^s room at 
the hour for tea; she was so fond of old ladies and gentle- 
men, and she could never fall in love with a young man. 
People of about fifty were her preference; and how inter- 
esting for a young woman to have an elderly husband. It 
was very droll when she expressed her opinions; even 
Frau von Eatenow was obliged to laugh, though sorely 
against her will. 

“ He must be very rich, though, mustn^t he, Lili?" 

“ Of course, my dearest aunt; he must either be rich or 
else at the very least he must have a high-sounding title, 
must be a general or something of that sort.^^ 

The Bennewitzer came very often now, and Aunt Eate- 
now was more charmed with him than ever. “ Elsie, he 
is a man of high principles!" Frieda always had a sweet 
smile for him, and Lili opened her eyes wider and dropped 
the long curling lashes more slowly than usual, when talk- 
ing with him. There was a positive race whenever his 
handsome carriage, with the fine black horses, rolled into 
the court. Aunt Eatenow, with great dignity went as far 
as the hall to meet him, while Frieda and Lili already stood 
upon the stairs, and Herr von Hegebach was often really 
perplexed to know whether he was expected to enter Frau 
Frieda^s boudoir or go on to Frau von Eatenow^s salon. 
In any case, whether he turned to the right or the left ho 
drew the whole company after him. 

Elsie apparently stood outside of this little circle, and 
nevertheless she was indisputably conscious of being pressed 
more and more toward the center. She tried with all her 
might to win back every hand’s breadth of ground which 
she lost; unconsciously to herself her eyes hung upon her 


110 


A PEOTILESS ORPHAK. 


aunt^s energetic countenance as if entreating for mercy; 
more and more like a frightened child she tried to shield 
herself from the glances of a pair of dark eyes, and yet she 
felt that one inch after another of her safe ground was 
slipping from her. 

This morning a magnificent bouquet had lain among her 
gifts in Erau von Ratenow^s room, and the visiting-card 
close by had named the giver; a letter from Aunt Lotte, 
good old Aunt Lotte had been there too. Moritz had 
pressed her hand and had brought her a beautiful portfolio 
of red Russia leather, and the children had hung upon her 
in great glee. Lili and Frieda had also made their ap- 
pearance, the latter with various ribbons and other “ rig- 
ging,^ ^ as Aunt Ratenow called it, and the old lady had 
given back one pale blue bow with the remark that it had 
doubtless been brought down by mistake, and had certain- 
ly come from Frieda’s toilet table, as was shown by the pin 
which was still sticking in it. 

Oh! Elsie was so tired; it was all the -same to her if 
Frieda did wish to smuggle in some of her old things with 
the others— and why shouldn’t she wear cast-off bows? 
She had no money for this ‘‘ sweet nonsense of life,” as 
Moritz was pleased to call his young wife’s costly trifles; it 
was only natural, after all: Frieda did not mean it unkind- 
ly. Ah! if that had been all that was demanded of her! 

Aunt Ratenow had told her this morning about her 
birthday and how sad it was, arid how since then her 
father had been a gloomy, lonely man, and that she had 
told him the child would yet be a blessing to him, a great 
blessing. And it all lies in your own hands, Elsie,” she 
had concluded. 

The young girl in the silent cemetery started up sud- 
denly; again that horrible icy feeling was creeping over 
her. She hurried away down the road; she never noticed 
the golden sunshine nor how its rays sparkled in th*e rain- 
drops which trembled on the tender leaves of the bushes. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


Ill 


Spring everywhere. All about her delicate green and the 
twittering of birds, even the old gate tower had fastened a 
little light green branch upon its venerable head. When 
she entered her father^s room her cheeks were almost 
feverish. She meant to turn to him; he certainly hated 
the Bennewitzer, he would, allow her to flee to him for pro- 
tection if — 

The old man had opened both wings of the window, the 
newspaper lay before him on the table, and near the cold 
pipe stood a half empty wine glass. 

Papa, arenT you feeling well?^^ asked Elsie. 

‘‘ Oh, yes, my child; only the breathing, the cough — it 
is much better now; you may close the window again. I 
can no longer bear excitement, and this day — He took 
her little hand in his and pressed it for a moment. 

“ Draw the curtain close together too, the sunshine is 
so hot, Elsie; and then perhaps it will please you — that 
little box over there was your mother^s; it always stood on 
her sewing-table, and she had in it the little sacks and 
caps she made for you. I have always kept it, Elsie — take 
it home with you. Oh! it was so pleasant when she sat 
before it; that was a bright time in my life — it all comes 
back on such days! Once — she had been out — it was at 
Christmas time — and afterward, when she was again sit- 
ting by the sewing-table she said, with her eyes looking at 
me merrily, ‘ Hegebach, I saw such a lovely rocking-horse 
at the saddler Lehmann^s.^ Ah, Elsie! if I had only been 
able to buy a rocking-horse for you, then everything would 
have been different !^^ 

The girl* bowed her head — always the old song over 
again ! 

“ And now, child — he pushed the mahogany box to- 
ward her, with its German silver escutcheon above and the 
name of her dead mother, ‘‘ How — I have withdrawn my 
coihplaint against the Bennewitzer.'’^ 

“ Papa!^^ It sounded like a cry of terror. 


112 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


‘‘ Yes, child; oughtn’t I to have done it? You have so 
often told me that I was in the wrong. ” 

“Yes, papa, forgive me.” She spoke almost hope- 
lessly. 

“ And now he wished to be reconciled with me, Elsie; 
it was to have been a surprise for you ; they wanted to 
come for me to-day with the carriage, and take me to the 
Burg so that we might all dine together with your Aunt 
Eatenow; but, for my part, I don’t know if it will do, 
Elsie. I can no longer bear excitement; and you know it 
is such an old antipathy, it is not at all easy. I under- 
stand that I ought to do it for your sake, but — 

“ Papa! for Heaven’s sake, not on my account!” begged 
the girl, pale to the lips. “ Who said that?” 

“ Your aunt, child, and she is right; yes, she is right!” 

Elsie sprung up from her chair and tried to speak. 

“ Don’t be vexed, Elsie, that I have made the discovery. 
I am so happy about it. "You see, child, it is a terrible 
thought for a father to know he must leave his child alone 
in the world all — alone.” 

“ Dear, dear papa!” The pale face was turned toward 
him. “I am not afraid, of course not, and am living, 
and will live for a long time, and I can stay with you, 
papa! I came here to beg for that!” 

“Don’t upset me, Elsie! All these things have weak- 
ened me; and Siethmann is so disagreeable and so noisy, 
I—” 

He groaned aloud, and put his hand on his chest. 

“ This stupid pain — it is surely good — that everything — 
happens as it does — for you, Elsie! You can’t imagine 
how lonely and cold and dreary this life can be, or you 
would not be so courageous; for you, now, the world is full 
of roses.” 

She was silent. She felt benumbed. She only realized 
that now she had no one who understood her. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 113 

At this moment Siethmann rushed in in the greatest ex- 
citement. 

Madame from the Burg, and the Bennewitzer were com- 
ing up the stairs! 

Well, then! The old man suddenly changed color. 

“ Go into the other room, Elsie, you donT need to see 
them, now — 

She went throtigh the small arras-door into her mother^s 
room, and suddenly found herself face to face with Frau 
von Eatenow. 

“We have come here, Elsie — the walls have ears at 
home now — Lili is everywhere, and it is not necessary for 
her to know everything that happens. I donT know how 
that will-o’-the-wisp manages to bustle about Hegebach 
the way she does; but, after all, it is the fashion nowadays 
to court the men. ” 

She sat down in the chair by the window, in her heavy 
black silk cloak, but loosened her bonnet strings. 

“ Mercy on us! I believe Siethmann has lighted the 
fire!” she added. 

The air was indeed stifling, and the pale girl felt as if 
she were suffocating. 

The sound of the Bennewitzer’s sonorous voice came 
from the next room; it was so conciliatory, so mild, and 
the old lady tapped composedly on the window-sill with 
her large, well-cared-for hand; an expression of perfect 
contentment was upon her face. 

“ Look, Elsie,” she said, “ nineteen years ago you lay 
on that self-same sofa, crying pitifully. Indeed, if I could 
have known all beforehand, I should not have taken you in 
my arms with such a heavy heart. ” 

“ What do you mean, aunt?” 

“ Ah! my girl, it is wonderful in this world; the dear 
Lord leads one through such winding paths that every- 
thing is straight and equal in the end. What do 1 mean? 
Oh, go along, Elsie; you are not a girl of the ordinary 


114 


A PEraiLESS ORPHAlSr. 


kind^ who affects ignorance to the last. I know that that 
question is an unnecessary one, because you can answer it 
perfectly to yourself in your own heart; and if you do this, 
with your clear common sense, then you must say, ‘ Thank 
God, that it has come to this! My old aunt Eatenow was 
very good to me, it is true; but still it is another thing to 
be one^s own master. I was always obliged to accommo- 
date and submit myself to all kinds ol caprices — a make- 
shift — and besides that, now my old father can have a few 
happy years, free from care!^ Isn^t it so, little girl?^^ 

“ Oh, auntie, I beg of you!^^ groaned the girl. 

And see, child, he is so good, so kind, he is truly a 
splendid man. I will confess to you, Elsie, when I heard 
— you were in boarding-school then — that he had lost his 
sons, then I thought, he will probably marry again, and I 
felt it would be providential if you should please him. I 
have seen it coming, little by little, with the greatest joy — 
and — well, he is in there, Elsie, and is asking your father^s 
consent. Come here, dear old girl — close up to me; do 
' you think I did not notice your flirtation with the handsome 
young lieutenant? Ah! Elsie, then I never could have 
been young myself! Lieutenants, child, are all very fine 
for you girls to dance with; but when it comes to marriage 
there is more to be thought of than a pair of flashing eyes 
and bright epaulets! Elsie! how can any one look so rigid! 
Elsie! but Elsie !^^ The girl had sunk upon her knees and 
lifted her clasped hands. 

“ Aunt, aunt, have mercy !^^ she sobbed, with tearless 
eyes, I will do anything, I will — I can not!^^ 

“Good heavens!’^ She put her arms around the girl 
and lifted her up. “ Elsie! act like a woman! This de- 
pends upon more than a girlish caprice; beware of yourself. 
‘ I can not ^ my child — there are hard, serious things in 
this world which one ought not to look at through colored 
glass; you will assure yourself of prosperity for a long, long 
life. It can not be a leap into a bed of roses,; but it must 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAl^-. 


115 


be a serious step, made with an honorable purpose, an hon- 
est heart. My child, it might have happened so to me if I 
had not had such a sensible father. Do you suppose I 
would have chosen Friedrich von Ratenow? No, Elsie! I 
was over head and ears in love with a poor wretch of a fel- 
low who was my brother’s tutor. I was a saucy thing and 
told my father of it, when Herr von Ratenow asked for 
me. Gracious, child, you ought to have seen that! Before 
I had time to look around, the tutor was out of the house 
and I had Ratenow’s ring on my finger. I have never re- 
gretted it — and what do you want? Every princess must 
do the same thing — no, no, Elsie, you are too sensible!” 

She stroked the golden head that lay so quietly on her 
breast. “You are going to be reasonable, aren’t you?” 

“ Not yet, aunt! Wait a little, I implore you!” begged 
the trembling girl. “ I must be more quiet, first — you 
must grant me that!’^ 

She uttered the last words vehemently, and the old lady 
saw that she could urge her no further. 

“ I advise you to take a walk, child; there is plenty of 
time before dinner. ” 

She got up and handed the girl’s hat and cloak to her. 
“ There, girlie, good-bye.” 

She went. She fairly ran. Here, at least, there was 
fresh air, and the broad open country lay before her and 
she still carried hope in her heart; she still felt strong 
enough to defend herself against the whole world. She 
thought of the quiet little village in Thuringia, of the sim- 
ple church and of the people there who lived together in 
such peace : she saw Sister Beate’s good face so plainly be- 
fore her, under its little Herrnhuter cap — there was still 
one spot untouched by the storms of life. 

Before she was aware of it she found herself at home — 
and she was glad when the servant told her that Madame 
and Fraulein Dili were both out. She started to go up- 
stairs, then turned around abruptly. 


116 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


“ Where is the ‘ Herr Baron 

“ In the library, friinlein. 

She came down again and knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,^^ was the response. 

“ May I go in, Moritz 

‘‘ Why, Elsie, I pray yon — of course.^’ 

“ I would like to ask you something, Moritz/^ 

‘‘ All right, Elsie; hut come, let us go into the garden.^’ 

She looked at him with astonishment, he was so unlike 
himself — as if he were embarrassed. 

‘‘ As you like, Moritz. 

They went through the conservatory and strolled up and 
down in the sunny paths. The air was sweet with the 
perfume of the violets and the starlings chirped and twit* 
tered over their heads, in clear long drawn-out notes; the 
old Burg garden was indeed one of the delightful spots of 
the world. 

All at once she covered her eyes with her simple little fan. 

Moritz,^ ^ she began, “ have I offended you in any wa}^?^^ 

“ Ho, my dear child, he replied, gently. 

“ I thought I had; you have been so different with me 
lately. 

He looked at her as she walked by his side with down- 
cast eyes. What had happened to the bright charming 
girl? 

“ Moritz,’^ it was the old, childdike tone. “ Must I do 
what they all expect? Must I?” 

“ Must! Ho, Elsie; but perhaps it would be well if you 
wished to do it. 

“ I can not, Moritz!” 

He stopped and took her hand. ‘‘ Elsie, he said in his 
simple-hearted way, donH think of Bernard! any more, 
don^t wait for him; a thing like that must be forgotten. 
You must not imagine that he grieves as you do, little one. 
You don’t know life yet!” 


A PEITITILESS ORPHAN. 117 

She glanced at him again with her mournful eyes, while 
a blush mounted to her face. 

“ I often think of him, Moritz; that happens without my 
will; but from the first moment I have never had any hope; 
I know so well that a gulf lies between us, a deep, deep 
gulf. I only mean, if I— but you don’t understand me at 
all, Moritz. I do not love my cousin a particle, not an 
atom as — one ought to love — one’s — ’ ’ 

She faltered, broke down, and stood before him, glow- 
ing scarlet, and with big tears running slowly down her 
cheeks. 

Of course he understood her, but did he dare let her 
know it? What was to become of her if she should refuse 
the Bennewitzer! His mother would be furiously angry 
with her, and Frieda? Eeally, his domestic happiness de- 
pended upon the thing — it sounded absurd, but his little 
wife was positively jealous and she showed it at every op- 
portunity. It was true that Elsie, in her innocence, had 
never suspected it and she should not know it either. He 
was still silent. 

“ Elsie,” he said finally, and he felt how commonplace 
the words sounded, ‘‘ don’t make- your life too hard; see ” 
■—and he began to wander up and down, his hands behind 
his back, “ one grows older and quieter, and in later years 
one thinks so differently of affairs of the heart and mar- 
riages for love — and — ay — what was I going to say — 
Elschen, I would consider it again.” 

She did not reply, but she dried her eyes. 

“ Very well, Moritz, but I beg one favor, at least; en- 
treat your mother that to-day — only to-day — she requires 
no decision from me. And now, Moritz, forgive me for 
having troubled you.” She turned about and went back 
into the house, choosing the way through the hall, for she 
had heard Frieda’s voice in the conservatory and the sound 
of a waltz had fallen upon her ear. Lili played very well, 


118 


A PEITKILESS OEPHAN. 


but she rarely did anything more than finish a few bars 
and then begin on sometliing else. 

Elsie sat down by the window in her own room. Now 
she had no one left her: now she was all alone. They 
were all angry with her because she disdained an assured 
future, a comfortable existence, the envied position of a 
rich young wife, and all for a reason which was so ridicu- 
lous to the world, but so serious and sacred to a pure 
woman. But her father, her lonely. old father! said an in- 
ward voice, the only one which rose up in opposition to her 
thoughts: then a hot blush overspread her white face. 
“ No,” she said, under her breath, ‘‘ I do not love him, I 
only deceive him and myself. She did not know the out- 
side world with the thorny paths which a lonely girl is 
obliged to tread, but it could not be so horrible as if she — 
She sprung up once more, shivering with nervousness; 
hastily seizing a book she turned over the leaves until her 
eyes were attracted by a poem. 

“ Die Mutter sprach: Lieb Else mein, 

Du musst nicbt lange wahlen! 

Man lebt sich in einander ein, 

Auch ohne Liebesqualen; 

So Mancbe nahm sclion ihren Mann, 

Dass sie nicbt sitzen bliebe, 

Und fuhlte sich im Himmel dann; 

Und alles ohne Liebe.” 

She smiled sadly and closed the book; she bowed her 
head on her clasped hands and for the first time in many 
years wept like a child, a poor forsaken child. 

So the hours passed away; out of doors the spring twi- 
light fell over the budding trees, then the new moon shed 
her faint light into the young girFs room, but she did not 
stir. The sound of music came from the drawing-room. 
Lili was playing on the piano in order to while away the 
time. The others were staffing so everlastingly long in 
Frau von liatenow’s room, and the old lady had sent word, 


A PEKliriLESS ORPHAN. 


119 


in her most polite way, that Friiulein Lili was not to come. 
It had been insupportably dull to-day — especially the din- 
ner with the Bennewitzer for he had hardly spoken a word 
and had only continually made the one motion of his hand 
over his beard; and before that the family scene at the 
Cramms^ — Annie as a happy fiancee, stiff as a puppet, and 
by her side Lieutenant von Eost, who looked so dreadfully 
indifferent and as if the whole affair were nothing to him. 
Mamma Gramm was the only one who seemed much 
affected, for the father^s emotion seemed to spring from 
the silver-necked bottle in the ice-tub rather than from any 
rapture about his son-in-law. As soon as the first surprise 
was over, Lili had withdrawn from the family circle, of 
course with the permission to announce the happy engage- 
ment. Outside in the ante-room she had asked in true 
military fashion, “ Annie, when did that bomb burst? How 
long has the thing been going on anyway? No one ever 
thought of it until now.^^ 

Annie had blushed, “ Ah, it is an old fancy, but papa 
would never listen to a word on the subject. 

“ How cruel Lili had been obliged to suppress her 
wild desire to laugh. ‘‘ Now however?^’ 

“Ah! Lili, I should have died without him.^^ 

“ Gracious the rogue had exclaimed in amazement. 

“ Well, then, 1^11 not disturb you any longer. Tell me, 
Annie, his name is V 07 i Eost, isnT it?’^ 

“Yes, von Eost.^^ The answer was somewhat snap- 
pishly given. 

“ Good-bye, Annie. With difficulty she had kept from 
laughing and had run home, eager to tell the great news 
at dinner, and after all there had only been gloomy faces 
around the table and no one, with the single exception of 
Frieda, had shown any interest in the thing. 

The Bennewitzer had left immediately after dinner; the 
sisters had gone to the window to see the handsome trap 


120 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


and Lili had yawned repeatedly, then had hummed a few 
bars from “ Wildschiitz." 

“ Doch ich nelim’ mir einen Alten, 

Sehe nicht die vielen Falten,” 

and had finished with: “ Beer, Frieda! I think I shall soon 
start for home. ” 

“Well! I can not blame you if you do!^^ 

The young wife was in an ill-humor and had buried her- 
self in one of Heyse’s novels. Moritz had gone to his 
mother^s room, and finally Frieda had followed him. 
“ Listen, Lili,'^ she had said, “ something is wrong again 
over there, and I am going to see about it.^^ 

Now, she had been gone for “ ages,’^ and Lili found the 
time hanging heavily upon her hands; even pale little Elsie 
had not been in to take pity upon her. 

It was certainly time for her to go home again: if there 
were nothing else to do, she could at least amuse herself 
with the young nobleman from the court who was there 
with a shooting party; he was surely less tiresome than 
the Bennewitzer; anyway, what sort of heroes were these 
two, the Bennewitzer — and Moritz, the good big bear — and 
Frieda was even jealous of him. Merciful Heaven! 

Meanwhile across the hall the young wife had listened 
for a little, then had gone into the room. 

Frau von Eatenow was sitting as calmly as usual in the 
bow- window holding her knitting in her hands; by her side 
was her favorite cup with her crest upon it, as she had it 
every day. 

Moritz, looking very much excited, was walking up and 
down the room with long strides. 

“ Ah!^^ cried his pretty little wife, “ Moritz is playing 
the wild animal — what has happened then?’^ 

“ I donH agree perfectly with mother, Frieda. 

“ Well!’^ said the young womaii ironically, 'Hhat is 
something rare, certainly!’^ 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


121 


“ And I maintain/^ declared Frau von Eatenow, “ it 
must not be lightly permitted; there are plenty of people 
who struggle against happiness just as a sick child does 
against medicine/^ 

“ And I insist, mother, that among us it is not the 
custom to buy a wife!’^ he replied, his honest face red with 
anger and scorn. She should be perfectly free, and* have 
the privilege of giving herself away or of refusing the 
man. Where do you find either morality or womanliness 
in the horrible opinions which are, alas! the order of the 
day. For my part, I despise the girl who marries simply 
for money. 

He stopped before his mother, with hashing eyes. 

The old lady remained perfectly calm. Moritz had al- 
ways been the least bit visionary; he got that from his fa- 
ther, and, besides, the ‘‘ boy had not the slightest sus- 
picion of the misery life held for a poor, unprotected girl. 

“ I certainly can not drag her to the church, and Hege- 
bach is not the man to beg for a wife,^^ was her reply. 

What you say, my boy, sounds very fine, if one had the 
needful remedy. Ho one knows better than yourself that 
theory and practice are totally different things. I have al- 
ready discussed the subject too often; I shall say no more 
about it. My intentions were good. My grandmother 
used to say: ‘ Love! love is for the most part imagination!’ 

I have known enough girls who were ready to drown them- 
selves because they could not have their first choice, only 
to find out later that the second was the first real, true 
love, after all. But, Moritz, it is absurd in you; such 
sentiments are only allowable from either a love-sick 
school -girl or a half-cracked old maid.” 

It may be true,” he replied, curtly; but I do not 
choose to believe it.” 

He had stopped before Frieda, and was looking down at 
her with brightening eyes. 

“ Frieda, you say a word for the honor of your sex!” 


122 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


“ I don’t in the least understand what you mean;” and 
the little woman turned her head on one side, as if per- 
plexed. 

“Hegebach has offered himself to Elsie to-day, and 
she—” 

“To Elsie:” 

The astonished eyes flow from her husband to the moth- 
er-in-law, who was so calmly knittiug. 

“ Well, then!” and she burst out laughing. 

' He started involuntarily. What was the meaning of this 
convulsive laughter that was really half-weeping? Big 
tears were indeed running down the pale cheeks. 

. “ You have certainly dissuaded her from it, Moritz?” 

“ Dissuaded?, Ho, Frieda; on the contrary, I have en- 
deavored to explain the necessity of the step to her; but I 
was sorry for it afterward.” 

“Indeed!” The young wife laughed no more. “I 
could not imagine how it would seem at the Burg without 
Elsie von Hegebach; it would be indescribable^ surely!” 

“ What do you mean by that?” interfered the voice of 
the old lady. 

“ Oh, nothing, mamma. Moritz understood me very 
well.” 

“ I regret to say I did not, Frieda,” he replied, quietly. 

“ But I did.” Frau von Ratenow had arisen, and now 
stood before her daughter-in-law. “ I have made a great 
deal of allowance for you, my child, for your moods and 
caprices, with which you have tyrannized over the whole 
house; have always excused you, because I had supposed 
you were devotedly attached to your husband; that he al- 
lowed himself to be tormented by you was his affair — he 
wished for nothing better. But,” she continued, raising 
her voice perceptibly, “ if you should dare to accuse him 
of disloyalty — if you dare to attack the honor of the girl 
who has grown up under my roof — Frieda — Heavens! I 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 123 

forget that you are my son^s wife — the mother of his chil- 
dren!’^ 

“ Stop, mother!” said Moritz, quietly, drawing down 
the old lady’s lifted, threatening hand. “ Frieda does not 
understand what she said; she meant it otherwise.” 

“No,” she cried, springing up; “I do not mean it 
otherwise; I know what I have said. Since Elsie von 
Hegebach has been in the house, he has become a changed 
man — has only eyes and attention for her; I certainly ought 
to know it better than you and the rest.” 

“ Silence!” commanded the old lady, so calmly and sol- 
emnly that the beautiful mouth was involuntarily speech- 
less. “ What did I say to you long ago, Moritz,” turning 
to her son, “ as you were wooing your wife? ‘ Be untiring 
in your efforts to control her, so that she may not get be- 
yond you.’ You are now reaping the harvest of your 
boundless indulgence, and of your trifling; there are wives 
and children to whom goodness is like poison; and this was 
a love marriage! Mine was not; but I esteemed your fa- 
ther, and would not have ventured to insult him. The 
only thing lacking now is for you to beg for her forgive- 
ness, my son, and then one chapter is ready for a modern 
romance of married life.” 

“You understand perfectly well, mother, that I shall 
not do that,’ ’ he responded, gloomily. 

But the old lady only half heard him; she had gone into 
her bedroom, and had bolted the door behind her. 

“ Frieda,” he said, sadly, turning to her, “ you have al- 
lowed yourself to be drawn into a fearful error. God knows 
you could not have hurt me more!” 

She still stood there, tugging at her pocket-handker- 
chief, her blue eyes glittering through her tears. 

“ Frieda, do go down and calm yourself first,” he en- 
treated; “ and then let us talk this over quietly. Heaven! 
how could you have thought such a thing?” 

He was very pale, and sh: iVas forced to see that she had 


124 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


wounded the great, true-hearted man deeply; but she 
would not see it. 

She shook off his hand, and hastily left the room; she 
was so frightfully injured; she was such an unhappy wom- 
an — oh — 

‘‘ Lili,^^ she sobbed, in her boudoir, and falling upon her 
sister’s neck, ‘‘ it is awful, besides all one’s other troubles, 
to have such a mother-in-law. As big and old as Moritz is, 
he is still tied to her apron-strings like a little child, and 
never once takes my part when she treats me like a school- 
girl; but then why should he? He does not love me any 
more. ” 

The dreadful day had come to an end, and a wretched 
evening now followed; Frieda had shut herself up in her 
own room, and would not see Moritz. Lili told him this, 
glancing at her brother-in-law as timorously as one would 
look upon a criminal of the deepest dye. 

The children had been screaming in their nursery, and 
when he had tried to quiet them they had been frightened 
at his frown. After that he had taken refuge out-of-doors; 
it was suffocating in the house, in his opinion; finally, he 
walked out of the court, down the avenue in the sweet 
spring evening, and without any particular aim sauntered 
through the Stadt-thor. 

It was still pretty lively in the streets of the little town, 
with children playing before the house doors and the neigh- 
bors gossiping with one another in the moonlight, which 
was almost glaring in its brilliancy. 

“ Halloo, Eatenow!” called a voice, and some one 
struck him on the shoulder. “ What are you doing here? 
If you are looking for your friends, come to the Casino; 
Eost has brewed a bowl of punch in honor of his engage- 
ment. ” 

Captain von P stood before him. Moritz was not 

in the mood; he did notfc?l like going, excused himself on 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


125 


the plea of not being in evening dress, and finally went 
along. 

As they entered the oflicers’ handsome mess-room, they 
found it already very gay; the happy fiance appearing the 
most temperate among them all, with, perhaps, the excep- 
tion of the Bennewitzer, who was indifferently smoking a 
cigar. 

“ What!'^ said Moritz, with difficulty forcing himself to 
jest, ‘‘ you here, Herr von Hegebach? How comes Saul 
among the prophets?'’^ 

‘‘ They caught me, as they probably did you, my dear 
Eatenow,^^ he responded, drawing up a chair for Moritz. 
“ I do not feel like going home yet. You know there are 
days in one^s life when there does not seem to be any spot 
where peace is to be found. 

Moritz was silent; he well knew what that meant, for he 
himself had requested him this morning to have patience 
until the morrow. 

Elsie was so taken by surprise; his wooing had come 
upon her so suddenly, and other things which one is ac- 
customed to say when a compulsory respite must be gained. 

They had already turned from the punch to sack; Eost 
appeared unusually liberal to-night; he certainly had a 
very fine father-in-law, for he had already intimated to him 
that he was willing to help him arrange matters, even be- 
fore the wedding; so a few bottles of sack more or less did 
not matter at all. 

‘‘ Have you sent the news to Bernard!, Eost?^^ called 
out the stout assessor. Dolling. 

“ Of course,^ ^ was the reply. “ 1 only hope he will send 
his congratulations by telegraph, for his letters are becom- 
ing insupportable; how he ever managed to get into such a 
doleful state is beyond belief. 

“ His letters, however, are to be preferred to himself,^ ^ 
exclaimed one of the young men; “ he actually does noth- 
ing at all now but work or play the violin. When I was 


126 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


away a little while ago, I tried several times to bring him 
oat a little; otherwise, what is the good of being in a half- 
way decent city? But Heaven forbid!’^ he said, loftily; 
‘‘ that our performances disquieted him, and that the Tiv- 
oli Theater was a horror to him under any circumstances/^ 

The most of the men laughed. 

“ I did not trouble him any more,^^ the young officer 
concluded, filling his glass. “ Weof the cavalry are never 
disturbed by such trifles. 

“I think it is positively certain that he will leave the 
service,^ ^ another one remarked, slowly; “ that is to say, 
(I discovered it only accidentally), he had asked my uncle, 
who is mad on the subject of music, if he thought he had 
enough talent to become a professional musician, a vio- 
linist."^ 

‘‘And upon that,"" the assessor interrupted, imitating 
the manner of the speaker, “ it is to be hoped the uncle 
replied, ‘ Dear Bernardi, you don"t scrape the “ Wimmer- 
holz "" badly; but nowadays more than that is required to 
become a celebrated violinist." ’" 

Lieutenant von Eost, who was not easily moved, sudden- 
ly changed color. 

“ Such a man!"" he said, in a low tone, to his neighbor 
on the left, “ with the greatest trouble and difficulty, he 
has just been preserved from one folly, and now he wants 
to venture upon a greater. He is simply crazy!"" 

But his angry observation was drowned by the boisterous 
“ Hoch "" with which the comrades drank the health of the 
young jimicee, 

“ Fraulein Annie Gramm, hoch!"" sounded from many 
voices. 

“ And a hoch! for all lovely women!"" cried Captain von 
P , and the glasses again clinked together. 

Moritz rose abruptly. In his present mood it was no 
longer possible for him to remain here in this tumult. 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAH. 127 

“ You are going?^^ the Bennewitzer asked. “Then I 
will come with you, if you will permit me.^^ 

“ Are you stopping in the hotel asked Moritz, when 
they had reached the lower hall where they still heard the 
animated sounds from the mess-room. 

“ Yes; but I will walk a little way with you, Ratenow.’^ 
It was now perfectly quiet in the streets; only the moon- 
light lay over the town. A thin, filmy mist hung like a 
silvery veil over the roofs, and cast fairy-like fetters around 
the outlines of the houses and trees. 

The two men walked on together in silence, neither one 
knowing just how to begin the conversation. 

“ My dear Ratenow,^^ said the elder, finally, “ I should 
not like to have you judge me falsely — you, above all. A 
little M'hile ago you looked at me so strangely. You must 
know that I am neither vain enough to believe that such a 
young girl as Elsie von Hegebach will fall into my out- 
stretched arms with rapture; nor am I at an age when one 
is restless and tormented by the expectation of the decisive 
answer from a pair of red lips, and where one is wont to 
meditate upon self-destruction in case of refusal. I have 
already had to bear too many sad and heavy blows from 
fate for that. The motives which led me to woo my cousin 
were only of a half-way selfish nature. I was, to tell the 
truth, impelled to share our uncle ^s inheritance with my 
cousin and his child, and this was the only possible means 
by which that purpose could be accomplished. But — he 
stood still, and laid his hand on his companion's shoulder — 
“ I add to that, that I should not have conceived this plan 
if the young girl had not been in the highest degree con- 
genial to me; I say ‘ congenial,^ dear Ratenow; at my 
age, one no longer thinks of passionate love.^^ 

They walked on again, but Moritz had remained dumb; 
he knew so well that the man spoke the exact truth; he 
knew that he might choose among many; he was a distin- 


m 


A PEKIiTILESS OliPHAET. 


guished man with a large, noble heart, and he was still able 
to demand happiness, and yet — 

“ During the last few weeks I have continually painted 
to myself how it would be,’’^ the Bennewitzer continued, 
with animation in his voice; “ I have seen Elsie^s figure 
roaming through my lonely house, and have heard her 
voice ringing with happiness. I have -been up to the rooms 
which I have fixed upon for her father, and I have planned 
out a journey in order to show the world on the other side 
of the Alps to the chikDs wondering eyes. Heaven knows, 
Eatenow, it would be an unspeakable joy to me to make 
known to this young soul the thousand beauties with which 
nature and the hand of man have enriched the world, 
and — 

He hesitated. 

‘‘ Once I traveled through the Black Forest, and into 
Switzerland, with my eldest son, and I shall never forget 
the pleasure which was given me by the unaffected delight, 
the naive wonder, of the young mind; I would like to see 
it once more. Eatenow, he asked, abruptly, “ isnH some 
one coming there 

They stood at the entrance of the avenue; the dark tree- 
trunks rose up, sharply defined in the moonlight, and 
through the light mist they saw distinctly that a figure was 
moving quickly, half-running, toward them. 

“ It is a woman, said Moritz. “ It is Elsie he added, 
half a minute later. Elsie, in Heaven^ s name, where 
are you going? "What is the matter ?^^ 

She suddenly hung upon him, and he felt the trembling 
and shaking of her whole body. 

‘‘ Moritz, father! Take me to father!^^ 

‘‘ What has happened, Elsie? Tell me!’^ 

He unclasped her arms from his neck, and glanced at her 
deadly pale face. 

“ Sick,^^ she said, with quivering lips. ‘‘ Siethmann 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


129 


came; she wanted to fetch me, but I ran on ahead. Take 
me, Moritz!” 

He drew her trembling arm into his own. 

Come, little girl. ” 

“ I will go, too,^^ said the Bennewitzer. ‘‘ Has a phy- 
sician been called? DonT you know, Elsie?” 

She shook her head, and ran on so fast that the men had 
difficulty in keeping up with hen She wore neither hat 
nor cloak, and. in the uncertain light there seemed some- 
thing almost uncanny in the way she was flying. 

She was already at the top of the stairs when the gentle- 
men entered the door; the doctor came toward them along 
the dusky hall. 

“ Come in, gentlemen?^^ he requested, softly. ‘‘ I sent 
for the daughter; he can not live to see the morning. ” 

They stood in the small comfortless room next to the one 
occupied by the old man, the moonbeams fell through the 
window, and fell in broad white streaks upon the floor, 
only broken by the trembling shadows of the fresh green 
twigs which rustled before the windows. 

“ Tick, tack,. tick, tack,^^ said the old Hutch clock, and 
through the half-opened door of the adjoining room came 
the sound of a distressing groan. 

Papa I cried a voice, donH go away from me, doiiT 
leave me alone, so frightfully alone 

The physician took one quick step toward the door, then 
stopped again. The dying man was speaking slowly, hesi- 
tatingly, so brokenly as to be almost unintelligible. 

No, no, papa; don^t die, don’t die! I must say some- 
thing to you, dear papa! Listen; can you still hear me?” 

The physician went into the bedroom. 

After a moment he came back again and beckoned to 
the Bennewitzer; he softly stepped in, seeking the girl 
with his eyes. She was kneeling before the arm-chair in 
which her father was resting, clinging to him; the old 

5 


130 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


man^s right hand lay upon her head and his dying eyes 
were turned toward the man who was entering the room. 

“ It has come suddenly, cousin, but I am much — hap- 
pier than before, because — Elsie, your hand! I\e done 
nothing for you in life, poor child, forgive me. You were 
always good and dutiful. Forgive me, Elsie. Make 
dying — easy for me — ^for life was — so hard.^' 

She raised her head and looked around as if imploring 
for mercy; but the tired eyes no longer met hers, and did 
not understand what she meant. She only felt how pain- 
fully his hand groped for hers and, when he had laid hold 
of it, made the feeble effort to lift it, and draw it across 
him in order to lay it in another hand. The mighty, 
awful majesty of death overpowered her at the aspect of 
the fearfully altered features; without any will of her own 
she yielded to the influence, then felt how a warm hand 
clasped hers, and how the dying hand quietly rested upon 
them both. 

Wilhelm, dear Wilhelm, said a manly voice, full of 
emotion, ‘‘ I will care for her and protect her — I promise 
you!^" 

“ Elsie whispered the dying man, “you are not left 
alone! No — poor — forsaken girl — no, Elsie — 

She lay there as if powerless, her head on his knee, her 
hand still in that of the Bennewitzer; it seemed as if a 
blood-red mist were floating before her eyes, and as if she 
could no longer think clearly. Then she heard Moritz’s 
voice once more: “ It is all over. Come, Elsie, my dear 
little girl!” and she was conscious of being lifted up, and 
then of nothing more. 

When she came to herself, Frau von Ratenow was ‘sit- 
ting upon the sofa upon which they had laid her; the old 
lady, dressed in a morning-gown and cap, had leaned her 
head against the back of the chair and was asleep. The 
rays of the rising sun were shining, fiery red, through the 
windows, filling the little room with his splendor. 


Jl PEKl^ILESS OKPHAISr. 


131 


CHAPTER XL 

The young girl jumped up suddenly; the scenes of the 
night had appeared to her as if by magic. Ah! how terri- 
ble it is when the sad present has been driven away by a 
few hours^ sleep, and when the awakening brings the bur- 
den of sorrow upon the soul once more with twofold 
weight, terrifying it anew and hurling it again into the 
depths! 

She drew her hand over her forehead. Was it true 
then? And, as if to convince herself, she arose and stole 
gently past the slumbering Frau von Ratenow into the 
next room. A strong draught blew against her, and over 
that which was lying on the bed some one had spread a 
white pall. 

She stood motionless; a frightful chill crept into her 
heart, and involuntarily she clasped her hands together. 
“ Our Father, who art in Heaven,^^ sounded in her 
troubled soul; she felt she must pray, and still she had not 
the power to express her petitions, her agony,, in her own 
words — ‘‘ and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those 
who trespass against us!” 

Then horribly piercing tones floated through the room, 
for down below in the street the trumpeter was sounding 
the reveille, as he did every morning. 

“ The soldiers must waken, papa,” Aunt Lotte had once 
explained to the little girl when the lively bugle notes had 
resounded as far as the Burg. 

Come, Elsie, my dear little girl, that will never rouse 
him again!” said Frau von Ratenow, drawing the girl to 
her. ‘‘ It is well with him, my child; he is at rest.” 

The funeral was over, and the men who had walked to 


132 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


the church-yard were now turning back, leaving Moritz 
and the Bennewitzer at the gate. 

Lieutenant von Host sauntered across the road to speak 
with fiancee and her mother, who were walking on the 
other side; perhaps not entirely for the purpose of getting 
a breath of fresh air, but also with the idea of catching a 
glimpse of the funeral procession. Frau Oramm loved 
that sort of thing, and Annie no less; a large fire, a wed- 
ding or a funeral were sure to draw her near to the scene of 
action. 

The lieutenant saluted them and walked by Annie with- 
out offering her his arm; he was not particularly gallant, 
and from the beginning he had not accustomed his fiancee 
to such attentions, a fact which Annie felt deeply and 
grievously; it would have been so nice, so truly and touch- 
ingly intimate to move slowly through the streets so that 
the people might observe how devoted they were. 

“ My dear son,^’ Frau Oramm commenced, ‘‘ didn^t you 
hear how Friiulein von Hegebach was? She must be fair- 
ly petrified by grief, from what Annie says. 

The young lady nodded eagerly. 

“ Yes. Imagine, Leo, I was there a little while ago. 
She never spoke, and she looked so wretched; she was only 
upon indifferent terms with the old man, and au fond has 
no reason for such despair. But she seems to be utterly 
crushed; can you understand it?^^ 

He dropped his eyeglass. It might be possible, was 
his reply; “ two such startling events at one and the same 
time. ** 

“ Twor^^ mother and daughter cried, as if with one 
mouth. 

He was silent a moment, and then said: ‘‘ She became 
engaged to the Bennewitzer by her father ^s death-bed.” 

A twofold exclamation of astonishment fell upon his 
ear. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


133 


“ That girl is lucky said the round elderly lady in the 
black velvet mantle. 

“It is amazing, isn^t it?'" asked Lieutenant von Rost, 
with an expression which always left one in doubt whether 
he meant it seriously or ironically. 

“A great good fortune," Frau Gramm repeated. 
“ And that magnificent Bennewitz and the sumptuous car- 
riage! Last year even Prince H came there for the 

shooting. " 

Annie did not speak. She was thinking of the board- 
ing-school and how Elsie had sat over her books till she 
was utterly worn out, in order to pass the examinations, 
and how plainly she had always dressed. Yes, indeed, it 
was wonderful good fortune! Whoever would have 
thought it! 

The news of the engagement of the orphaned girl to her 
cousin flew through the little town on the wings of the 
wind. She herself sat in her own room, in her long trail- 
ing mourning dress; her white face, with its infinitely woe- 
ful expression around the corners of the mouth, looked 
fairly ghostly above the black crepe. She had said very 
little since that morning, but Aunt Ratenow all the more. 
She had not wept either; but she had wandered about from 
one place to another with a troubled expression, her hands 
idle and her eyes gazing sadly at the ground; hardly a 
morsel of food had passed her lips, and she had scarcely 
closed her eyes in sleep. She continually saw the colorless 
face of her dying father before her, and felt the laborious 
groping after her hand, and how the fetters had been cast 
around her, the hideous, invisible fetters which she must 
wear all her life long. It was more than. cruel to make use 
of the inviolable power of the hour of death, the strong 
might of a last wish, to make a human heart miserable for 
all time! 

“ Father, you did not love me!" she groaned aloud; 
and then she saw again the happy smile as he ha.d joined 


134 


A PENK'ILESS OKPHAN. 


their hands, the last, oh, such an easy breath, as if the 
poor breast had been freed from a heavy burden; he died 
contented, he died calml}’ — and she must live — must live! 

It was horrible! She had not seen the man again in 
whose hand her father had laid hers, and Frau von Eate- 
now had urged her no further; this intense silent grief did 
not accord very well with bridal happiness. But now that 
the funeral was over, the fiancee had a longing to speak 
with the girl who had been intrusted to him in that solemn 
hour. 

Frau von Eatenow, likewise in deep mourning, mounted 
the stairs to announce this important visit to Elsie. In 
her hand she held a few cypress twigs which the Benne- 
witzer had taken from the casket before it was lowered 
into the ground — a last greeting for the daughter. The 
dignified woman knocked at the door less resolutely than 
usual, and then entered. Elsie was sitting by the table, 
and had writing paper and a pen before her; but she 
pushed the half written letter into her portfolio and arose. 
Frau von Eatenow pressed the cypress into the little hand, 
and stroked the white cheeks. 

“ Hegebach sends his regards; he thought you might 
feel like going to the grave with him; the carriage is wait- 
ing, Elsie. Will you get ready? He will come to fetch 
you."" 

With the words “ with him "" she shrunk away and for 
an instant a rosy blush conquered the pallor of her face. 

She did not answer, only shook her golden head gently. 

“ Why have you drawn doWn all the window blinds?"" 
the old lady questioned, “ as if God"s sunlight were some- 
thing to be afraid of."" 

She drew the curtains apart, and the dazzling sunshine 
streamed into the room and touched the girl’s head as with 
a glory; she was obliged to close her eyes, the rays rushed i 
in so mercilessly. 

“ Look out, Elsie!"" Frau von Eatenow took her hand ! 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAK. 


135 


and drew her to the window. “ See how the buds are 
swelling on the apple-trees and how blue the sky is. We 
should honor the dead, child, but not forget the living, 
and you have duties in life; take courage, dear!^' 

The girl did not lift her eyes; if it were possible she had 
grown even a shade whiter. 

‘‘lam going down now, Elsie. I have a few words to 
say to Frieda. In the meantime I will send jom fiancee 
upstairs. At such a time etiquette may be set aside, and 
besides he is not a youth. When you return from the 
cemetery come to my room for a cup of coffee. Good-bye, 
Elsie. 

She was gone. The young girl struck her forehead with 
her little hand, and clutched her soft hair as if she were in 
intense pain, WasnT there any escape? Her terrified 
eyes glanced through the room. Must she redeem a 
promise which was so opposed to every feeling of her 
heart? Oh! to be free, only to be free once more! It was 
horrible to know that every such thought was a sin. She 
took up her dainty black mantle mechanically, and put on 
her bonnet; but her hands fell as she was fastening her 
veil, for there on the threshold — “ Cousin !^^ she stam- 
mered. 

He had come up to her and had taken both of her 
hands in his, then he drew them to his lips. 

“ My beloved Elsie, he said, gently; “ it was a sad 
hour, but at the same time a serious and sacred one, in 
which the assurance of a happy future was given to us.^' 

He spoke warmly, nevertheless what he said sounded 
stiff, almost pedantic. A load seemed to roll from the 
girl's breast, but she was silent. 

“ Shall we go to your father's gra^e together, now, 
Elsie?" 

She nodded. He took her parasol from the table, and 
handed it to her, then offered her his arm. She hardly 
laid more than the tip of her fingers upon it, and so they 


136 A PEKKILESS ORPHAK. 

left the room and went down the stairs and through the 
vestibule to the carriage. He helped her in, and carefully 
spread the costly robe over her knees, as she sat upon the 
soft, silvery silk cushions. She had not once lifted her 
eyes; but now as they drove rapidly away, she looked up. 
Frau von Ratenow was standing at the window, and waved 
her hand to her. 

A feeling of unutterable wretchedness took possession of 
the girl as she rolled away in the luxurious carriage; it 
seemed to her as if she had been bought, as if she were un- 
worthy of herself, and with a sudden movement she drew 
her crepe veil over her face, as though she were ashamed 
to have the clear bright spring sunlight shine in her eyes. 

She took no notice of the arm which was offered her at 
the entrance to the church-yard, but stepped rapidly 
ahead. 

“ Where are you going, Elsie?^^ he asked. “ The grave 
is on this side.^^ 

But she had already knelt down by another mound, and 
was wringing her hands as if in a prayer of desperation. 
If she were still living, then — a mother could never thrust 
her child into a loveless life, no, never! 

He stood aside, quietly waiting. It was a long time be- 
fore she arose, and turning followed him to the new-made 
grave upon which the clods of earth lay irregularly, a sad 
sight which they had tried to hide under countless wreaths. 
She stood here without a word, without a tear. He took 
her hand, but she gently drew it away from him. 

Shall we go back?'^ he asked, after a quarter of an 
hour of unbroken silence. . 

She assented, and again walked quickly on through the 
narrow paths between the rows of graves. She delayed at 
the carriage; she would greatly have preferred to walk. 
He assisted her in, and sat down by her side in silence. 
He knew what it meant to return home from a new-iiiade 
grave; he understood her melancholy manner only too 


A PEKKILESS OEPHAN. 


137 


well. She was somewhat shy and serious and sometimes 
almost bitter. The child^s brown eyes must only learn to 
laugh again; they would do that when she was no longer 
obliged to look upon trouble and care, when the intoxicat- 
ing fragrance of a careless, bright existence should float 
around her in the cheery rooms at Bennewitz and in the 
magnificent park. The smiles would come back again on 
the journey; he would take her to Paris the very first 
thing; after all, she was only a mortal maiden, and Paris 
— just Paris! that is a most fascinating word for a wom- 
an's ear. She had again enveloped her face in her veil, 
and looked neither to the right nor the left. Lieutenant 
von Rost and Captain von H. stood before the riding- 
ground as they drove by. They bowed low and gazed 
after the couple, and at the black veil which fluttered out 
of the carriage window for a moment. 

“ She has not yet learned how to lie back upon the 
cushions like a grande dame/* said Rost. ‘‘ She sat as a 
child who has been scolded sits upon the school-bench. 
Well! it will not last long. Women are incredibly clever 
at such things. 

‘‘ Do you believe that there is any love on her side.^’^ 
asked Von H. 

“ Pah!’’ exclaimed Rost, turning to his horse, which the 
groom led out at that moment. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Iiq- the meantime Frau von Ratenow had really been 
with Frieda; the young woman’s mood seemed incorrigi- 
ble, and she had hardly had a word of sympathy for the 
orphan. Once Lili had gone upstairs with the intention 
of condoling with her very coolly, but her good fickle little 
heart had been conquered by the quiet, grief-stricken girl, 
and her eyes were red with weeping when she came back 
to Frieda. 


138 


A PEISTNILESS ORPHAN. 


‘‘ Good heavens, why do you pity her so?” the young 
wife has asked, angrily. ‘‘ She has made her fortune by 
it! Don^t you begin like Moritz, who announces this en- 
gagement as if at the least the end of the world were ap- 
proaching. ^ ^ 

But, Frieda! no one looks like f/ia^ in spite of all 
grief ,^if she is happy! No, Frieda, you are in a bad hu- 
mor, and you want some one whom you can vex. I know 
3 ^ou well, little sister. She stole a courtier away from you 
once, isn^t that it? You certainly can not be really jeal- 
ous of Moritz; he never troubled himself about a soul in 
the world except j ust you. ^ ^ 

But neither bantering nor encouragement had succeeded 
in banishing the ill humor of the beautiful woman; every- 
thing had been upset since Elsie had come, and now there 
was no prospect of her leaving the house; they must show 
respect to her on account of her affliction; she was no 
longer a person who could be overlooked; she was the 
-fiancee of a man who belonged among the leaders in those 
circles which are considered the first in the province. 

Frieda had fastened a coral pin in her dark-blue dress, 
for she was not in mourning; what had she to do with the 
worn-out old man who had closed his tired eyes? 

The old lady, however, had come to her with such an 
expression of satisfaction upon her whole face that the 
black cr4pe seemed scarcely fitting. All that, she had 
longed for with regard to Elsie had come to pass; the poor 
little girl had really and truly drawn the great prize — and 
how beautifully she carried herself, so seriously and so 
calmly, and still with such pride — and how lovely she 
looked in her deep black garments. Since her father’s 
death she had never once tried to appear coy and shy. 
Ah, indeed, such an expression in the eye which is closing 
forever has a solemn, holy jDOwer, and makes everything 
which one has up to that time fancied valuable, appear 
trifling and childish. Of course Elsie had willingly seized 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


139 


the supporting hand which had been held out to her in the 
very moment when her little boat began to drift aimlessly 
upon the sea of life. 

“ Elsie is a good, sensible child, God bless her!” The 
old lady’s grief was not very deep. Really, she was sorry 
for one thing; she wished he might have had the happi- 
ness of living a few years in comfort; but God knew what 
was best; he and the Bennewitzer had never agreed very 
well, and it might have been that he would have disturbed 
the perfect harmony. And he had always been an invalid. 
Yes, yes, he was released. Might he rest in peace! 

With a most cordial ‘^Good-morning” she estab- 
lished herself in one of Frieda’s fragile easy-chairs, and in- 
quired after the health of her little grandson with such a 
cheery voice that the younger woman’s blue eyes rested 
upon her in astonishment. 

“ Well, Frieda, dear,” she went on, easily, “ what do 
you think of Elsie? I hope your foolish whims have 
evaporated by this time?” and she took the young wom- 
an’s hand. “ Listen, my treasure; a heavy burden has 
been lifted from my soul, you can see that plainly, and 
when anything gives me pleasure, you know, I am always 
glad to have other people pleased as well. You may 
choose something especially fine for your birthday, Frieda; 
will you? Well, then, out with it — you help, Lili. ” The 
young woman’s expression was not very agreeable yet, 
even though what she heard sounded extremely promising, 
for Mamma Ratenow was always generous in her gifts. 

“ You are very kind, mamma,” came hesitatingly from 
the full scarlet lips. “ I—” 

“ Well! you have time enough to think it over; don’t 
be in a hurry. I had thought perhaps you would like to 
take a journey with Moritz, stay a little while in Baden- 
Baden, then go on to Switzerland and the Italian lakes. 
How would that do? I would look after the children. 
Now, take it into consideration, chicken. Good-bye. I 


140 


A PEKNIL'ESS ORPHAK. 


want to speak to Moritz; he is looking at the lambs. 
Good-bye, children 

Indeed she was clever; she knew how to find the tune to 
which each one most willingly danced, and she also knew 
that the desired effect never failed to follow. It was so in 
this case. The two sisters immediately sat down on the 
lounge close beside each other, and turned over the leaves 
of the latest fashion journal; they found such a beautiful 
traveling costume. “ If that were chosen in other colors, 
perhaps in gens d*armes blue?^’ 

Moritz hated traveling; it was too uncomfortable to 
suit him, and more than that he feared the expense, for 
Trau Frieda did nothing cheaply. But now he could not 
help himself. Travel! Oh, delightful word! Baden- 
Baden! Moritz was the only one who remained stub- 
born. 

“ What is the matter with you, boy?^^ his mother asked; 
“ how can you take Frieda^s foolish, petty jealousy so 
much to heart.’ She is on the right road to become 
reasonable. 

He struck his forehead half angrily. ‘‘ Your suspicions 
are wrong, mother. I have simply ignored Frieda’s 
mood, even if I can not help confessing that her conduct 
has hurt me. Moreover, it may be that she was the least 
bit in the right; perhaps I was too eager about the girl’s 
fate. ” 

They crossed the court together during this conversa- 
tion; the golden spring sunshine lay upon the old Manor- 
house; the leaves of the tall lindens at the gate- way were 
emerald green and almost transparent; on the roofs of the 
barns the pigeons were sunning themselves in long rows, 
then suddenly they flew away, clapping their wings and 
looking like silvery sparks against the deep blue sky. A 
carriage rolled swiftly through the gates and stopped be- 
fore the entrance. 

“Elsie and the Bennewitzer, Moritz,” said Frau von 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


141 


Batenow, advancing quickly. ‘‘ Where are you going, 
Moritz 

Her son had taken his hat from his blonde head, and was 
greeting them as he walked away toward the stables. > ‘‘I 
must examine Sultana; the horse doctor is coming to-day 
to probe her foot again. 

“ Queer muttered the old lady, going on quickly. 
She overtook the couple at the door, and squeezed the 
little girlish hand in its black glove. 

Elsie looked so unlike herself — so strangely stiff and 
resolute. It was her father; but this was so unnatural; if 
she had only wept at the least ! She sat in the same way 
in her aunt^s cozy room, where they went for coffee. The 
folding-doors were opened into the conservatory, and the 
free, warm, soft air of spring floated in, the sunlight lay 
full and hot on the flagstones of the terrace, and solitary 
rays hung in the air like sharply outlined bands, with 
millions of motes dancing in them. The girl turned her 
head away, and sat motionless, with burning eyes, without 
speaking a word, without taking the slightest interest in 
the conversation. What was it all to her? She seemed to 
herself like one who has been thrust forth from a blooming 
garden into wintery ice and snow; she stood in the midst of 
it, freezing, freezing; and from the other side the blossom- 
ing roses nodded and asked : ‘ ^ Why do you let them force 
your^^ And the swallows flew past and twittered Has 
your courage come to this? Aren^t you ashamed of your- 
self?^ ^ And she was ashamed; she was so overcome with 
it, with true maidenly shame, that she sprung up and 
rushed out upon the terrace, and with swift steps walked 
up and down the dear old paths in the garden. 

“ Frau von Eatenow,^'’ said the Bennewitzer, when Elsie 
had so abruptly left the room, “ is my fiancee ill? I must 
acknowledge that this mute despair worries me. Can it 
be merely the shock of her father's sudden death which 
has worked such a change in her?" 


142 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


Tlie old lady shook her head imconcernedly. 

“ My dear Hegebach, the girls of to-day are different 
fro;n those of our time; then life was brisk and energetic; 
now it is the fashion to be a little doleful. Besides, think, 
it is the day of the burial, and in spite of everything her 
attachment to the old man was almost absurdly tender. 

“ Do you think so, madame?'^ he asked, slowly, and 
settled himself among the deep cushions of the arm-chair a 
little more comfortably than he had sat in the young girBs 
presence. 

‘‘ I do not know; only a little while ago she seemed to 
me like a child. It was perhaps the expression of the eyes 
which chiefly caused it. When I went upstairs to-day to 
fetch her I was met by such a glance. Indeed, you will 
chide me for being sentimental, madame, but I can not 
banish that look, there was something so questioning in it, 
so reproachful. Once before a pair of eyes gazed at me 
with such an expression, and I have never been able to 
forget it. It was in Russia; a young gypsy woman stood 
by the road-side begging; my coachman, a rough fellow, 
struck her on the head with his whip. Not even an eye- 
lash quivered, but her big dark eyes were turned upon me, 
and there was a world of woe in their glance. As I ap- 
proached Elsie to-day, she had just such questioning, re- 
proachful eyes and the grieved mouth, and I — I can not 
help it — I must say it, there must be more in it than 
mourning for her dead father. ” 

“ Hegebach!^^ in a tone of deep disapproval. 

His words had given the stately woman a feeling of in- 
describable uneasiness. She shook her head and looked at 
her vis-a-vis searchingly, but she did not know what to say 
in reply. In her perplexity she took up the coffee-pot and 
filled her cup to the brim, then rose up and handed her 
guest a cigar, and at the same time asked: Where can 
Elsie be? Shall we take a turn in the garden?^ ^ 

They wandered about the paths, but Elsie was not to be 


A PEIS'NILESS ORPHAK. 


143 


seen. Frieda and Lili came back from their drive with 
the children; they could see them over the wall, and they 
also saw Moritz ride away on horseback; he saluted them 
and called out that he was going to the farms. 

I can not imagine where Elsie is; she is a strange 
girl,'' and “Elsie! Elsie!" rang through the garden, but 
there was no answer. 

“ I pray you, Frau von Ratenow, leave her alone; she is 
not in the mood for talking. I can feel for her. " 

They walked on in silence. Here and there he stopped 
and looked at the budding shrubs and gave their botanical 
names, but the irritated woman at his side made no re- 
sponse. 

“ I must excuse myself early to-day." The Bennewit- 
zer had stopped and looked at his watch. “ I beg you to 
give my loving regards to Elsie." 

“ I will send some one to look for her, dear Hegebach." 

“ No, I pray you. Perhaps she is weeping; don't 
trouble yourself, madame. I shall come again to-morrow. 
One's cheerfulness should never be forced." He then 
commissioned the under-gardener, who was passing by, to 
order his carriage, went on smoking calmly, and asked 
about some widely different matters. 

“Apropos, Hegebach!" the old lady interrupted. 
“'What did you say was the name of the jeweler in Berlin 
of whom you had ordered the engagement-ring?" 

“ Haller & Company," he replied. “ It will not be 
done for a week." 

“ Of course not," she exclaimed, “ because everything 
is heaped upon such establishments. Thomas, here, in 
the market-place would have made it exactly as well, and 
quicker, but in that you are like every one else, Hege- 
bach!" 

He smiled, but did not answer. 

“ I think the carriage has driven around," he said. 


144 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAN. 


“ Permit me, then, to take leave; until to-morrow, ma- 
dame, and my remembrance to my sad little Elsie/ ^ 

He kissed her hand, went up the terrace with a spring- 
ing step, and vanished into the house; the next moment 
his carriage rolled swiftly across the paved court. 

‘‘Of course he was displeased,” said Frau von Eate- 
now, still standing at the foot of the veranda steps; the 
child^s behavior is really inexcusable. Heavens! what 
trials one has with young people. She ought to have been 
my father^s daughter She turned about and again 
paced up and down the garden paths, taking long steps, 
and looking very much irritated. Well, she would not say 
anything about it to-day, but to-morrow — It was ex- 
tremely improper to run away like that, and it was dan- 
gerous too. 

And by the way, what was all this from the Bennewit- 
zer, this tale about the eyes? It was not at all necessary 
for him, at his age, to be gazing into the child^s eyes, as if 
he were a young ensign; this, soft-heartedness and languish- 
ing were desperately unbecoming to him; he never was 
like that before! She brushed her hand across her fore- 
head. 

A few minutes after she appeared suddenly in the dairy, 
so like a dark apparition that the housekeeper nearly fell 
on her knees from fright; she had supposed madame any- 
where except here; she had just been drinking coffee with 
the Friiulein and Herr von Hegebach. 

“ Well, you had better faint away entirely,’^ she said, 
with her loud voice. “ It^s the fashion nowadays. ” Then 
she wbnt from one pan to the other and peered into all the 
butter tubs. 

Madame was indeed very uncomfortable; she could not 
even knit, as usual; she continually saw the girFs white 
face before her, and heard the Bennevvitzer's foolish talk 
about the eyes. There was nothing else to do. She must 
tell her, in all kindness, but tell her she must. She had 


A PENITILESS ORPHAIf. 


145 


already risen, intending to go upstairs, when Moritz came 
in and seated himself in his father ^s chair, opposite her, 
and he had several matters which must be decided at 
once. 

To his question, “ Has Hegebach gone already?^^ she 
replied with a curt “ As you see!” He then hastily be- 
gan to talk of oats and other herbage for fodder. She 
could not tell him how the girl had acted. 

“ Where is Elsie?” he asked, in the midst of the con- 
versation. 

“ Upstairs probably. But how did you happen to let 
the young horse-doctor attend to Sultana? I saw him 
coming away from the stables a little while ago. 

“ The county farrier is sick, and I would not let my 
favorite wait any longer. 

“ Oh ho!” she said, but her thoughts had already wan- 
dered to another, very diiferent, subject. 

Then the young ladies came in with the children; Lili 
was so gay and the little ones so full of fun that the dusky 
room was filled with laughter and merry shouts, and when 
the children at last said, “ Good-night, it had grown late 
and the moonlight lay upon all the roofs of the manor. 

‘‘ Will you dine with us?^^ asked Moritz; “ and is Elsie 
coming down?^^ 

“ Thank you, no,^^ she replied. ‘‘ Sophie may serve our 
dinner here. Elsie will not feel like it yet, you know.'^ 

“ Then good-night, mother.” 

The old lady rose quickly from her chair; she must talk 
with Elsie. She hastily mounted the stairs and unlatched 
the door into the girTs room; it was completely filled with 
dazzling white moonlight; the windows stood wide open 
and the sweet perfunie of the violets had floated in with 
the moonbeams. It was perfectly still; nothing stirred. 

“ Elsie!” she said softly, and looked searchingly around 
the room. . The girl was lying on the bed, and the old 
lady crossed the floor and leaned over her. Positively she 


146 


A PEl^’NILESS OEPHAET. 


was asleep, and in her hand she was holdiDg a little bunch 
of faded violets which she pressed against her breast. The 
old chest at the foot of the bed was open, and on the top, 
half drawn out, lay a rumpled white dress with rose- 
colored bows; she knew the dress, and she recognized the 
bunch of violets, and she saw the girl before her as she 
had seen her on that evening, with the blessed, happy, 
child-like eyes. She stood motionless; the old lady was in 
a strange mood, such as she had not known for a long, 
long time; was it caused by the perfume of the violets, 
and by the nightingale that was singing her long sweet 
song out of doors? 

She stole silently out and down the hall, and then sat 
for a while in the darkness in her own room resting her 
head upon her hand. 

Nonsense!^’ she finally said, softly, and went to the 
little table where the matches lay, and “ Nonsense!^' she 
repeated aloud, and risch! a clear flame burst forth un- 
der her fingers. ‘‘ To-morrow morning, however, I will 
speak to her; it must be done.^^ 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Eakly the next morning a fine rain was falling, and 
lowering clouds hid the rising sun, but the dampness had 
been a blessing to the budding trees, for everything had 
grown wonderfully green during the night. The servants 
in the wing were already stirring, and the grooms were 
feeding the horses, but a death-like stillness yet reigned in 
the manor-house; only a light step had colne along the 
corridor and gone down the stairs; it had passed quickly 
through the lower hall, and into the kitchen, and through 
the servants’ hall into the open air. 

It was pretty cool and Elsie von Hegebach drew her veil 


A PEKNTLESS ORPHAK. 


147 


over her face, and walking straight across the court went 
out of the gate. The housekeeper, who was on the point 
of entering the dairy, looked after her, shaking her head. 

“ I do believe she is going to the church-yard,^^ she said 
to the kitchen maid. 

“ She had a traveling-bag in her hand,^^ the other one 
answered, and then they both went on into the cellar. 

In the stable-door, however, stood a tall, fair-haired man 
looking after her with honest blue eyes and a serious face. 
He knew what she intended, and he did not stir his foot to 
hasten after her and stop her. 

‘‘ But where will she go?’^ he asked himself, standing 
perfectly motionless, until the dark, willowy figure had 
disappeared at the end of the avenue. Then he once more 
turned his attention to the sick horse, patting his glossy 
neck when he looked at him with his intelligent eyes. 
Half an hour later, as he slowly crossed the court, he heard 
the shrill whistle of a locomotive from the other side of 
the town. 

A good journey to you, Elsie, my dear little girl,^^ he 
said, softly. “ Whether you have been clever or not, I 
can not say, but that you have done right, that I know."’"’ 

It was nine o^clock when Frau von Eatenow sent the 
maid upstairs to request Friiulein von Hegebach to come 
to her. The old lady sat by the window as usual, and was 
looking very serious, even a trifle pale; she had had a bad 
night; troubled dreams with various evil presentiments 
had tormented her; the odious white dress and the bunch 
of violets and the girl’s extraordinary behavior of the day 
before had played an important part among them. And 
by the sober light of day the old lady had been furiously 
angry with herself; she ought to have wakened the child 
last night, ought to have rebuked her. She was be- 
trothed. Had she any right to think of another man? 
And after all, who was this other? A fellow like dozens 
of young men, distinguished by nothing except a little 


148 


A PENNILTieS ORPHAN. 


talent for the violin. It must come to an end — in all 
kindness — but to an end. 

‘‘ Fraulein Elsie is not in her room/* the maid re- 
ported. 

“ Then look in the garden/^ was the order. 

The servant stood still. “ I doiiT think the frau- 
lein will be there, madame; the housekeeper says, ma'am, 
that Friiulein Elsie went to the church-yard before day- 
break this morning." 

‘^Nonsense!" The old lady rose. When might that 
have been?" 

‘ ‘ About four o'clock, madame, so the housekeeper says. " 

“ And novr it is nine! Look in the garden!" 

The maid departed. 

Frau von Eatenow sat down again calmly, and looked 
out into the court. The servant was a very long time in 
coming back, but the old lady would not allow herself to 
be worried; where could Elsie be? She would soon ap- 
pear. 

‘‘ I can not find the friiulein," wg-s again the maid's 
report. “ Dorothy says besides, that she was carrying a 
traveling-bag in her hand. " 

“ Very well, she will soon be here." 

The servant left the room. 

For awhile the old lady remained where she was, then 
went up the stairs and entered the missing girl's room. 
Everything as usual. Nothing was gone except the little 
portfolio, the crucifix over the bed and her prayer-book, 
but she did not notice that yet. The chest was carefully 
closed, and as Frau von Eatenow lifted the lid she saw the 
folded white dress inside, folded with care. 

“ She will come back; Heaven knows what design she 
had this morning!" 

Then she stepped again to the little table under the 
book-shelves; a letter lay upon it! 

“A letter — sealed!" It was a new-fashioned flowing 


A PEKKILESS ORPHAK. 


149 


handwriting, and the old lady was obliged to take her 
spectacles out of her pocket before she could read it. 
“ To Frau von Ratenow.^^ 

She sat down and broke the seal, slowly, without any 
haste, but she had grown white to the lips. 

“ My dear, dear Aunt, — Do not think me too un- 
grateful that I leave your house secretly, the home in 
which I have received untold kindness during my whole 
life. No choice is left me. I am defenseless among you 
all, and so weary. I have only just strength enough to go 
away. I can not live with a lie in my heart. I was not 
abld' to tell you the truth — to tell you myself. I wanted to 
do it yesterday when I stood by papa^s grave with Herr 
von Hegebach; but not one word crossed my lips. I am 
not sure that you understand me, aunt. I pray the dear 
Lord that you may do so, then you will judge me more 
charitably. 

“ I am turning my steps toward D , and will write 

Herr von Hegebach from there. I know well that he is 
too honorable not to release me from a promise which was 
torn from me in a moment when my mind was palsied and 
I was half fainting from anxiety. 

“ Farewell, dear aunt. I am and shall always remain 
your truly grateful and respectful niece, 

“ Elsie von Hegebach. 

“ P.S. — I can at any time have the situation of assistant 
teacher in D . Do not be anxious about my future.^’ 

The letter dropped from the trembling hands. 

‘‘ That — Heaven — how was it possible!" 

She took up the note once more as if she had not read it 
aright; then she looked at her watch, and rising as if under 
the weight of a heavy burden, sought her own room. She 
rang, and with averted face gave her order to the maid. 

‘‘ Request my son to come to me.'’^ 


150 


A PEl^NILESS ORPHAlSr. 


“ The baron had gone out on horseback/^ was the reply. 

She went into her bedroom and gathered together a 
traveling sachel, a morning gown, and various things 
needful for a journey; but she always look up the wrong 
thing, and was not able to find what she wanted; then she 
hunted up a guide-book; the train via Halle would leave 
at eleven o^ clock. 

She rang again and ordered Johann go to Bennewitz 
with a note. 

“ Herr von Hegebach is in town. , I saw his carriage 
early this morning,^ ^ said the maid, timidly. 

Was everything bewitched to-day? 

“ Very welll^^ she replied; but she was beginning to be 
very impatient. This was the thanks for all her love! 
She ran away like the heroine in a novel! The great un- 
hoped-for good fortune which had, as it were, fallen into 
her lap, had been thrust from her by the homeless girl. 
She was compromising herself and the house in which she 
had found a home. AVhere had the gentle child with the 
calm brown eyes found this fatal energy? But they must 
not yield to her. At any cost the letter to the Bennewitzer 
must be stopped. 

She went to her writing-desk and scratched off a tele- 
gram to the principal of the boarding-school at D , 

telling her to request Elsie not to write a line until she had 
conferred with her; she would arrive by the evening train, 
and begged for a lodging. She sent the servant out with 
the sealed message, and wrote to the Bennewitzer. He 
must be found somewhere in the hotel, at the Eathhaus or 
in the office of the county court; he must not be permitted 
to come here; something must be done to keep him 
away. 

How hard it was for this honest woman to compose a 
falsehood. She tore up the third sheet of paper. She had 
at first thought of writing that Elsie had a sick headache; 
but, heavens! he would be sure to learn that she had gone 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


151 


t)ut. She had suddenly been obliged to undertake a short 
journey. 

Pah! Where should she go? He would be sure to see 
that something was wrong. No, she could not lie, come 
5\rhat would ; she saw no escape. 

“ If Moritz were only there 

‘‘ A card from Herr von Hegebach.^’ 

The maid brought a bouquet of lilies of the valley from 
Fraulein von Hegebach, and a note to Frau von Katenovv. 

‘‘ Carry the flowers to Fraulein Elsie’s room,” she com- 
manded, and then opened the envelope. 

The Bennewitzer’s letter ran: 

My purpose of dining with you to-day, madame, is 
unfortunately interfered with. I must return to Benne- 
witz immediately, as the building committee of the M — 
schen Kail way is at this moment surveying the tract which 
lies upon my estate. Excuse such haste. I hope to be 
able to spend a couple of hours with you and my fiancee to- 
morrow in your charming home. ^ 

Very truly yours, 

Hermann von Hegebach. ” 

Thank Heaven, a respite is won!” 

Frau von Ratenow took heart once more. She could 
now start at eleven o’clock; she could also hope for the 

friendly counsel of Sister Beate, in D The girl 

should not be permitted to thrust happiness away from her 
like that. She hastily went on with her preparations. 
Gracious! what mustn’t one do for such a stubborn creat- 
ure! And how she did hate railways; and in Halle she 
would be obliged to take another ticket. Ah ! and it was 
such a horribly noisy place! 

All at once another idea came into her head. She had 
heard the trampling of a horse, and had gone to the win- 
dow. Positively it was he! 


152 


A PENNILESS OKPHAIT. 


“ Moritz/' she called with her loud, resounding voice. 

He took off his hat and nodded. 

“ Hirectl}^, mother." 

Then he sauntered slowly toward the house; and she 
could hear him still talking to the gardener at the door. 
Finally he came in. 

“ Goodness, boy, how slow you are!" she said, impa- 
tiently. 

Were you in a hurry? I beg your pardon, mother." 

‘‘ It is a quarter past ten, Moritz; and — will you do me 
a favor? You know how I despise traveling. You go to 

J) , and you talk to Elsie. She has always been more 

easily influenced by you. You know nothing about it yet, 
Moritz? You don't know that the child has run away? 
Or, I pray, Moritz, did you know of it?" she looked at him 
searchingly. 

He was so calm in spite of her hasty words. 

“ Certainly, mother, I saw her go." 

“ Moritz! and you did not try to stop her, did not try 
with all jjour might to hinder her from carrying out her 
foolish, sentimental idea?" 

He stood there, so tall and so noble. 

“ Ho, mother!" He took his riding- whip up from the 
table and bent it to and fro in his hands as defiantly as he 
had done as a boy when anything had not gone to suit 
him; but at the same time his face was full of determina- 
tion. “ Ho, mother, I had no right to do it!" 

‘‘ Good heavens, Moritz!" 

The old lady had grown wrathful. 

“Ho right," he repeated, “ you have none, and I have 
none, mother: according to our laws, no one, thank God, 
has the right to compel a girl to marry against her wishes. " 

“ It is enough to drive one crazy! What fine speeches 
you all make! What constrained her at the moment of 
decision, I should like to know?" 

“ Everything! People, circumstances, life and death, 


A PEKMLESS ORPHAN. 15B 

mother; and her own heart cried ‘ No!^ but nobody would 
listen to it 

“ But why, Moritz? Don^’t you comprehend the motive? 
Is it not madness in her position?^ ^ 

‘‘ The motive? Indeed you must not ask that, mother; 
who has fathomed the mystery which draws one heart to- 
ward another or repels one from the other?’ ^ 

“ You speak like a poet, Moritz; look about you in the 
world; it is clear broad daylight; the life of man is prosaic, 
no idyl; it is a struggle and chase in which every one must 
look after himself!” 

“ And that which drives the wheels, mother, is love; 
the love which will not allow itself to be disowned in the 
world, though the Kealists tahe so much trouble toward 
that end. Love and loyalty — they are so firmly fixed in 
our German blood, mother,” and he bowed his head 
seriously, “ I can not express it to you as I would; one 
needs finer words than are at my command.” 

‘‘Love?” The old lady rose. “ Love,” she repeated; 
“you mean the little lieutenant? What is he in com- 
parison with the Bennewitzer? A nothing, a nobody; he 
has courtly manners, and he can play a little on the violin: 
mila tout /” 

“I know him only as a charming man,” continued 
Moritz;’ “but again, mother, that is a mystery also. Love 
does not inquire about outward things, about position or 
amiability. And yet — a nobody, mother? Confess, now, 
if, for instance, Bernardi were the Bennewitzer’s son, how 
then.^” 

“ Then it would be totally different, my boy; now stop 
your sentimental stuff and nonsen m WiJhyou go?” she 
asked, imperatively. “ Will you lay the case before Elsie 
once more? As for Bernardi, she can not marry him; he 
is sure to have consoled himself long ago. ” 

“ So far as the first is concerned, I concede that point; 
he probably can not marry her. If he has forgotten her 


154 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


already, I do not know. I don't believe it, though, fo\ 
early this morning Eost's groom brought a beautiful 
wreath for the grave, by Bernard! 's order. As for going 
to Elsie, however, no, mother, I have just given you my 
opinion. I will not advise the child. ' ' 

“ Very well, then I shall go myself." 

“ Don't do it, mother dear, it is not right." 

‘‘ Would you have her left to reproach me when she has 
become a nervous old woman?" she returned. I shall 
do my duty — bah!" 

‘‘It is useless, mother, especially in your present state 
of excitement." 

“ Heaven helps the man who helps himself," she said. 
“ You are still a dreamer!" 

And she went into her bedroom. 


CHAPTEK XIV. 

It was the same road by which she had come and which 
she was now re tracing in the dizzy rush of the express 
train. 

Then it was autumn and foggy, and she had arrived in 
the evening with her heart full of blissful expectation; now 
it was a spring morning and the sun shone mercilessly on 
the cushions of the coupey showing each rent and every 
shabby spot: the little gold-rimmed mirror opposite re- 
flected a pale face with such a weary expression about the 
mouth, and -that was herself, Elsie von Hegebach. She 
back against the cushions as if she were exhausted 
with her the flying landscape. That the 

outside world lay iu the wH glory of spring-time was noth- 
ing to her; everything wasV so fearfulk^loojny , and empty 
in her young heart. 

How she had indeed burned the bridges behind her; now 
she had no one left; not one heart that understood her; 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


155 


nothing, nothing! Even Aunt Lotte had written in a 
strange, half-sentimental, half-exulting tone; it was a 
great happiness that had - been thrown to her upon the 
edge of the grave; an enviable fortune to have drawn such 
a lot! Happiness! that was what people called happiness! 
What was it? To share a man^s name and possessions, 
not to be obliged to fear the thousand-fold material needs 
of life — that was happiness to them! And for that she 
was to give everything; her freedom, her thoughts, her 
hopes, even herself, body and soul! 

A nervous shudder ran over her, and she closed her eyes. 

“ Hever!^^ she exclaimed in such a loud tone that she 
was frightened at her own voice; and the old lady, who 
was sitting opposite, stared at her in amazement. 

Her eyelids were lowered, and she did not notice it; she 
only saw a dark red mist before her eyes, and in the mist, 
drawing nearer and then retreating again when she tried 
to grasp it, w^as the figure of a dark-haired man with mel- 
ancholy eyes and a black mustache over the lips; and in 
the rolling and rushing of the wheels she seemed to hear 
sleigh-bells, while the perfume of violets fioated around 
her. Nevertheless, he had turned away from her, had for- 
saken her — because she was a poor girl! 

She started up abruptly. 

“My dear child, are you ill?’^ asked a sympathetic 
voice, and an old lady’s face was bent oyer her. 

“ No, no,” she answered, hastily, turning away and 
blushing deeply. “ Only I do not sleep at night, and — ” 

“ Forgive me, dear fraulein, but you groaned so pain- 
fully,” and the old lady sat down again in her corner. 
Then she took up a box in which lay several bunches of 
violets. “ My grandchildren gathered them for me; may 
I give you one?” and she handed the sweet blue flowers to 
the girl. 

The little hand grasped them eagerly, but she uttered 
no word of thanks. The giver only saw how she quickly 


156 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


drew the crepe veil over her face and pressed the blossoms 
to her eyes. After awhile she thought she heard a sob, 
but such a strange sound as when one sobs with dry eyes. 

“ Sorrow already, and still so young, ^“^she whispered to 
herself, and looked out of the window. 

At the stations everything was busy and active; some- 
times, for a short distance, the compartment would be 
filled, then would again empty itself, and soon even the 
old lady left the train. She stood still on the platform 
gazing after the moving carriage; she had a longing to see 
the child^s sad face once more, but all in vain, for Elsie 
was still leaning against the cushions as motionless as be- 
fore. And now came the last stop but one, and finally — 
finally — the end. 

When on a sudden Elsie found herself standing on the 
platform of the familiar station it seemed to her as if she 
must be dreaming. Over yonder in the distance were the 
tops of the mountains and the Thuringian forest as she 
had seen them hundreds of times! Ah! the beautiful 
forest! how happily she had wandered through it! And 
here before her lay the clean, empty village street with its 
pretty, old houses with quantities of blooming fiowers in 
each window; down below was the simple church,' and be- 
side it the shady cemetery; everything unchanged, except 
herself — except herself! 

She walked swiftly on down the street, past the long 
hedge and through the school-garden. No one was to be 
seen, thank Heaven! They were all at work or in the 
school-rooms. 

The narrow, dazzling, white steps of the adjoining house 
creaked lightly as the girl stepped upon them; how nat- 
ural the sound was! She knew that creaking so well — 
and listen! the canary — the little fellow Hans was warbling 
merrily in Sister Beaters tiny room. 

She knocked; and then, in her deep mourning dress and 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


157 


with the heavy veil hanging around her white face, she 
crossed the threshold of the apartment. 

Elizabeth?'^ asked a low, calm voice, “is it really 
you, Elizabeth?^’ 

A small old woman in the Herrnhuter costume stepped 
before her, and a pair of infinitely mild eyes looked into 
her drooping face. 

“ Sister Beate,^"’ she tried to sa}’’, but she was not able; 
she simply threw both arms around the old woman's neck, 
and the whole torture of the last few weeks was melted in 
a burst of almost convulsive weeping. 

“ You are in mourning, poor child?" 

“ My father," she stammered. 

The little woman pressed her hand gently, and led her 
to the old-fashioned sofa. 

“ Calm yourself first, Elizabeth; we will talk after- 
ward. Come! drink a cup of coffee. I knew you were 
coming; there is a telegram here." 

“ From whom?" 

The girl looked at the speaker with horror. 

“What do they want? What does the message say?" 
she added, hastily. 

“ I am to prevent you from writing a letter, child; and 
then your aunt will be here this evening." 

Elsie sat silent and trembling. 

“ They will not let me alone," she sobbed at last. 
“ Sister Beate, help me that I may not grow wicked, as 
wicked as ever a girl can be. Help me that I may not sink !' ' 

“ You are beside yourself, Elizabeth!" said the sister's 
calm voice admonishingly. 

Elsie grew speechless, and the hands which had wrung 
each other involuntarily, sunk into her lap. She looked 
sadly and searchingly into the apathetic face before her. 

“ Sister Beate," she began, in an entirely different 
tone, “ when I went away you told me that I could find a 
refuge with you at any time; that you would always be 


158 


A t»ENNILESS OKPHAN. 


able to give me sufficient occupation in your boarding- 
school. I have come to-day to ask you for it. 

“ It happens auspiciously, dear Elizabeth;. Sister An- 
gelica's place in the fourth class is vacant.-’^ 

With these words the speaker offered the young girl a 
plate of Herrnhuter cakes. 

She declined, and asked, “ Where is Sister Angelica?^ ^ 

“ Gone to Africa. Elizabeth, you ought to eat, you look 
so tired.-’^ 

“ To Africa? Probably as a missionary.^ ^ 

“ Yes, she will assist her husband, who has a school in 
Natal; it fell to her lot, and so she has gone; she started 
three weeks ago.^^ 

She spoke calmly. It was as simply told as if Sister 
Angelica had merely driven to church in a neighboring town. 

Elsie remembered her well; a delicate, fair-haired girl; 
and she also knew that the community were accustomed to 
marry their daughters by lot. She had never given it any 
thought, but now it struck her as being unworthy of them. 

‘‘ She went willingly. Sister Beate?^^ she asked, pressing 
her hands against her throbbing temples. 

Willingly? Surely she only told that to God; but she 
knows that it is His will, and she went cheerfully. 

It was very still in the little room. The air seemed op- 
pressively heavy to the girl. 

Sister Beate was now sitting before the table by one of 
the windows correcting the exercise books. 

“ You ought to rest yourself a little. You look pale 
and worn out,^^ she said in the midst of her work. 

The girl shook her head and laid her hand on the sister^s 
shoulder. “ Sister Beate, she commenced, with a trem- 
bling voice, “ you once told me — not so very long ago — 
that truth was the only thing which could save us from 
misery and calamity; it was above all other virtues?^^ 

The small head under the snow-white cap nodded, 
affirmatively, without looking up. “ Certainly, dear 


A PEITNILESS ORPHAN. 159 

Elizabeth. You were always a good, faithful child so far 
as human sense can judge. 

“ What I am going to ask you, 8ister Beate, sounds very 
odd; but it is true, isnH it, that Sister Angelica had never 
loved any one before; she did not go to the altar with a lie 
in' her heart?^^ ^ 

The meek little Herrnhuter looked up now. 

No, Elizabeth; her heart is like an unwritten page; 
our life here is so quiet and retired that the strong emo- 
tions which torture and rack the foolish hearts in the out- 
side world, do not cross our threshold; we hardly know 
them from hearsay. You ought to know that, Elizabeth; 
why do you ask the question?^'’ 

The girl suddenly threw herself upon her knees before 
the sister and buried her face in the folds of the gray 
woolen gown. 

“ I wish I had never gone away from here. I wish I 
had never seen him!'^ she sobbed. 

‘‘Get up, Elizabeth, and compose yourself,^' said the 
Herrnhuter, stroldng the girTs soft hair fondly and com- 
pasisonately. 

“Help me. Sister Beate,^^ implored Elsie once more, 
looking at her with wet, tear-stained eyes, “help me that 
I may not be wicked and false! Say to my aunt that I 
ought to write and tell him the truth at any cost.^' 

“ To him — Elizabeth!"^ 

“Yes, to him whom for three days they have called my 
fiancee.^ ^ 

Sister Beate made no reply. 

“You have always been my favorite, Elizabeth,'^ she 
then said, “ but will you like it here? Do not imagine it 
is so easy to adjust yourself to the quiet here after you 
have once been in the outside world : it is particularly hard 
to be a teacher with nothing before your eyes but duty and 
the hands of the clock which point out the hours for work. 
Some years ago another dear scholar came back to us; she 


160 


A PEKNILESS OKPHAN. 


was weary of the world and with a sad heart; she begged 
that I would keep her here forever, forever. In the be- 
ginning it went excellently; she worked in order to drown 
her sorrowful thoughts, and the quiefc and regularity were 
good for her shattered nerves. Then time healed the 
wounded heart, and health returned and called her back to 
the old gay, joyous life, and her face was more and more 
filled with longing, until one day she said, ‘ I am going, 
Sister Beate; I must get away; one only crawls here, while 
in the world we fly. •’ She went. I do not know what has 
become of her; and I only tell you this in order to make 
you see clearly that this is no place for the healing of 
wounds which have been received in the outside world; if 
you accept the position, Elsie, you bind yourself for two 
years at the least. Consider it well.^^ 

She still lay upon her knees, and her thoughts began to 
revolve in a mad whirl; airy, fleecy garments waved before 
her eyes, red roses and fluttering ribbons; she heard the 
rise and fall of a melody, and laughter and singing. That 
was life — that was youth — and like a colorless picture the 
school-room rose before her with its bare walls. Life roll- 
ing away in a dead monotony; and she was so young! The 
sister^s last words weighed upon her soul like lead. 

Hark! from the next room came a clear swinging sound 
through the silence, the song of a violin — a violin! She 
sobbed once more and buried her golden head in the folded 
arms which still rested on the old woman ^s lap. There 
were the thorns of the red roses, the painful thorns! 

I have nothing left — nothing more. Sister Beate,^^ she 
faltered. “ I will stay with you.^^ 

* 4c ♦ ♦ ♦ % 

There were guests^ rooms in the institution, for the 
hotel of the little village was very primitive, and one 
mother or another was continually stopping over from her 
journey to see some little daughter who had been left at 
the school. 


A PENNILESS OEPHAN. 


161 


They had opened one of these rooms for Elsie, and next 
to it the finest of the modest apartments had been pre- 
pared for Erau von Eatenow. 

The train was due at nine o^ clock; and the principal 
herself had gone to the station to receive the severe aunt. 
In the meantime Elsie was sitting by her little window 
looking with unutterable anxiety at the slowly moving 
clouds which at one time covered the moon, at another re- 
leased her round full face for an instant, in reward for 
which merry play she flung a silver border around each 
light fleecy form. 

What would happen now? 

Sister Beate had finally learned all the details, and she 
herself said that no choice had been given to the child. 
She was, however, sufiiciently acquainted with Erau von 
Katenow through her vigorous letters to know that there 
0 would be a severe struggle. 

According to Elsie's opinion they must have been back 
from the station for some time, and now the two who held 
the threads of her destiny in their hands were surely sitting 
in the little room and battling for her so-called happiness. 

“Elsie, Elsie!" called a soft voice, “are you here or 
not?" 

She turned; and her eyes had grown so accustomed to 
the darkness that she discerned a girl's slender figure 
standing in the door-way, and recognized the coquettish 
spring hat and the aristocratic little face beneath it. 

“ Lili?" she asked, in amazement. 

“ Well, goodness, yes, it is I!" was the reply. “ 1 have 
pictured this meeting to myself exactly as I find you, of 
course, looking at the moon! 

“ Mond, du bist glilcklicher als ich, 

Du siehst ihn, und ich seh’ ihn nicht!” 

she continued, tearing her hat from her head. “ Good 

heavens, isn't there even a sofa here? I am tired to 
6 


163 A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 

death. Oh! Elsie, it was a wretched idea of yours to run 
away.’^ 

‘‘You came with Aunt Ratenow, Lili? She — is she 

here?” 

“ Why, of course she is!’^ and the dainty figure threw 
herself upon the white linen of the bed and stretched her- 
self out to her hearths content. “ That is, she would 
surely have stayed in Halle, in all her glory, if it hadnT 
been for me. Moritz knew that very well, or he would 
certainly have spared me this journey. The whole coupe 
full of mothers, nurses, and babies, and in the midst of 
them all sat aunt in search of you, and stiff as an Indian 
pagoda. While I — Oh! Elsie, why did you do this to 
me? There is a supper to-night at the Gramms, and I do 
so love ragout of crabs with asparagus. 

Elsie made no response. She sat perfectly silent beside 
the bed upon which Lili was resting, and looked anxiously 
in her face and into the eyes which were filled with an ex- 
pression of intense amusement, in spite of her lament. 

“ Listen, Elschen, you have certainly provided for ex- 
traordinary gossip,” the little one continued. “ I must 
confess, when Moritz brought the startling news of your 
flight and at the same time the command for me to accom- 
pany aunt in pursuit of the fugitive, I had no other wish 
than to dine at the Casino to-day with the officers. I am 
convinced that the steward will make his fortune; in their 
excitement they will drink one bottle after another. Rost 
is sure to have pictured you something in this style: As a 
nun behind the grating, with the Bennewitzer kneeling be- 
fore it, with crest, sword and doublet, wringing his hands; 
and underneath the whole a scroll, ‘ Knight, my heart is 
dedicated to thee in true sisterly affection!^ The Old Ger- 
man is very modern after all. But now, my sweet child, I 
should like to know how you ever hit upon this idea.^^ 

She received no reply. Elsie was again standing by the 
window. 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


163 


“ I can not understand you/’ the little chatterer con- 
tinued. “ I think the Bennewitzer wonderfully chio for 
a husband. I assure you, if he had wanted me — au mo- 
ment — although I have here — motioning to her heart — 
“ a so-called secret love. One must have that, you know, 
Elsie; otherwise of whom shall one think when reading 
poems, GiebeFs or Strachwitz’s, for instance? It is highly 
essential for that; but all the same, I would have married 
the Bennewitzer. How lovely when he should see us after- 
ward, bound to another; it would put him in a fine humor. 
He would -be ready for Heine: ‘ Ewig verlornes Lieb — ich 
grolle nicht!^ There is no necessity of being miserable for 
any length of time on account of it, that is only in poetry; 
but it is interesting, highly interesting, Elsie! Elsie, don’t 
be angry with me,” the girl whispered, caressingly, and 
two soft arms were wound about her: “ I am not as bad 
as I seem; and if you will promise me not to weep any 
more — you thought I didn’t notice it? I tell you you have 
cried until you have made regular witches’ eyes of your 
beautiful brown orbs; but if you will stop, I will tell you 
something that will delight your heart. ” 

‘‘ Nothing delights me any more, Lili,” was the sad 
reply as she pressed her forehead against the window- 
pane. 

“ I have seen him, Elsie,” she whispered, even more 
softly, “ as large as life!” 

“My — my cousin?” the frightened girl groaned. 

It was dreadful to her to be obliged to hear how he had 
received this blow which she had dealt him. 

She saw him before her so plainly — just as he had stood 
by her side at her father’s grave; looking at her so kindly, 
and with such sympathy. She had lifted her hand to give 
the blow then, but had weakly dropped it again. 

“ The Bennewitzer? the poor discarded suitor? I don’t 
mean him,” Lili continued, clinging more closely to the 
trembling figure. “ By him we girls only mean one, the 


164 


A PEKKILESS OEPHAK. 


only one! Elsie, go along, don^t act like a child; you are 
nineteen years old, and you have been in boarding-school. 
Ah, yes!^^ she laughed, ‘‘ at the Herrnhuter^s. I always 
forget that; no such things are learned there; their school- 
girls are nothing but innocent little angels! I was at 

G , and from our school-room 1 could just look into 

the court of the Casino; each of us called one among those 
officers ‘ him.’ I saw him in Halle. Elsie! do you under- 
stand? He was carrying his violin case in his hand and 
was in civilian's dress. Well — not exactly the most fash- 
ionable, but you know military men affect ignorance on 
that subject: it is better for a large city; for instance, they 
can ride in an omnibus without attracting attention by 
their elegance. How, Elsie, what do you say?’^ 

Elsie did not stir. 

“ And I have spoken with him — don^t be alarmed, 
Elsie. Aunt did not see it; she was talking to the porter 
on the other platform. I was buying the tickets — there he 
stood in the crowd. Elsie, honestly, he is handsome! I 
knew him too slightly to address him; had only danced 
with him once; but a girl knows how to help herself. In 
passing him, alas! my umbrella lay at his feet; of course 
he picked it up. ‘Oh! I thank you very much. Lieuten- 
ant Bemardi;^ he started. ‘ I am in a great hurry, ^ I 
said, and told him my name — ‘ Lili von Teesfeld, am 
traveling to D— — with Aunt Eatenow to catch Elsie von 
Hegebach; she is determined to enter a convent."^ You 
ought to have seen his face! ‘Yes, yes, a convent.^ I 
nodded, ‘ because she does not want to marry her cousin. 
Adieu, Lieutenant Bernardi!^ 

“ I left him standing there, and hurriedly squeezed my 
way through the dreadful crush in the ticket-room; but as 
I was on the point of entering the damen-coupe, there he 
stopped at our train and got into the adjoining compart- 
ment. Fortunately aunt was sitting by the window on the 
other side of the compartment. I was often obliged to get 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


165 


a breath of air — so was he — that is to say, at the stations. 
Sometimes aunt would ask over the heads of the nurses 
and babies, ‘ Did you speak, Dili?’ Whereupon I — well, I 
assure you, I can look astonished — in short, he knows all, 
and — I am to be good to you — very, very good! He said 
that as I alighted a little while ago; he went on further. 
Now when I add to this that he sent a wreath for your 
father^s grave, and that he is going home ‘ on leave,'’ then 
I have told you everything!” 

Elsie had ceased weeping. It was as if a golden veil 
had been thrown around her; she tore open the window, 
and leaning out looked down into the spring garden, 
wliich was flooded with silvery moonlight; a nightingale 
was warbling in the linden-tree, and her heart beat as if it 
would burst! He had spoken of her on the most miserable 
day of her young life! Oh, the happiness was almost too 
great! But then she turned back, and closing the window 
with a crash she put her hands before her face and burst 
into tears. What good was it to her? She was indeed 
only a poor girl ! 

The little Herrnhuter was sitting opposite the stately 
lady in her simple room. Both had red faces, for they 
could not agree. 

Frau von Eatenow had thought to enlist an ally, but 
had encountered, if not exactly an enemy, still a power 
which appeared disposed to remain entirely neutral, and 
who, although she recognized many of the old lady’s decid- 
ed opinions as just, still pleaded earnestly in Elsie’s favor. 
The quiet little lady answered her as Moritz had done, only 
perhaps a trifle more pathetically. 

“ Well, only leave off, dear,” she exclaimed, at last im- 
patiently, interrupting the sister’s mild conversation. 
“We do not understand each other yet; I comprehend 
that. You may be right from your stand-point; but you 
are certainly no judge for either the child or myself. You 
revolve around your simple interests in an endless circle; 


166 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


we live in the world, which has claims upon us all, Elsie 
as well as the rest. 

“ But at the price of peace, which is above all else/^ was 
the reply. 

Frau von Batenow arose. 

‘‘ I would like to retire,^’ she said. ‘‘ I hope that at the 
least you will do nothing in opposition to my purpose. 
Elsie must go home to-morrow. She must,^^ 

“ Of course, Frau Baronin, Elsie shall decide for her- 
self."^ 

“ I think I shall conquer her obstinacy,^ ^ the old lady 
added. But tell me, my friend, is there a physician and 
an apothecary in the place 

“ Certainly! do you feel ill, Frau Baronin?^^ 

‘‘Oh! it will pass by; ^tis only in case of need. Some- 
times 1 get a crick in my back which makes me incapable 
of the least movement, and there was a frightful draught 
in the coupe. Well, we will hope for the best!'’^ 

“ But I will immediately bring you a little volatile lini- 
ment — 

“ No, indeed, my friend, not till there is a necessity. I 
do not care for such remedies. No doctor is allowed to 
come near me at home. I have more confidence in my 
shepherd — and in his foolish superstitions. But why do you 
look at me in such astonishment? ^tis so, dear! I will not 
see Elsie, I have had enough excitement for one day. Say 
to her that she is to come to my room in the morning. 
The other little one is with her, of course? Well, then, 
good-night!^’ 

They had reached the old lady’s room, and with these 
words, and without any further ceremony, she shut the 
door in the face of the little Herrnhuter. Sister Beate 
heard her groan once as if she were in pain and were 
stretching her limbs. She shook her head and went on one 
door further. 

Fraulein Lili had seated herself at the little table be- 


A PENlSriLESS ORPHAN. 


167 


tween the windows, and was eating bread and butter and 
soft eggs and drinking a glass of milk with the excellent 
appetite of youth. Elsie sat by with tear-stained eyes, and 
taking no part in the repast; she was watching the gnats 
which were rashly scorching their wings in the modest 
candle. Lilies dainty figure sprung up from the chair as 
Sister Beate entered, and she made as profound a courtesy 
before the plain serious woman as though she were stand- 
ing before a reigning princess. 

I have come to wish the ladies a good-night, the 
little Herrnhuter said. “ Your aunt will speak with you 
to-morrow morning, Elizabeth; she hopes you will accom- 
pany her home. I charge you once more : reflect upon 
your purpose with prayer. Good-night, my dear children; 
may the Lord protect you!^^ 

Liir turned to ^ Elsie, who appeared more ti'oubled than 
ever. “ Elsie, is it true? — I have heard that there is a bak- 
ing here which is called ‘ Brothers ^ and ‘ Sisters ^ hearts, 
and when the dough is particularly good, even ‘ stirred 
brothers'’ and sisters^ hearts?’ ” She sat down and went 
on eating with an easy mind. Please, please order a few 
for me in the morning with my coffee, and be sure they 
send ‘ stirred ’ ones — it has just occurred to me.” 

A smile passed over Elsie’s sad face. 

Y^ou are incorrigible, Lili!” she said. 

“ Ah! Heaven be praised!” cried the variable little girl, 
“ you can still laugh! Ah, Elsie, EJsie,” and she knelt 
down before the girl, “ you are all such devout people and 
yet you have not one bit of joyous trust in God! But I 
know though that it must all come right for you; I am cer- 
tain of it. ” 

“ You know it?” asked Elsie. 

“ Yes!” 

‘‘^How then?” 

I can not explain that; it is in the air, the air of spring 
perhaps, in the blossoming and growing out-of-doors; the 


108 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


birds sing it and the water murmurs it. !N’ow, you poor 
heart, forget the torment; everything must turn!^^ 

Elsie shook her head and looked into the girEs bright 
face with the dark eyes glistening through tears. “You 
are surprised at me, Elsie? I have always seemed so sur- 
prised?^^ 

“ I tell you frankly I have never troubled myself about 
you, you were so awfully tiresome in your everlasting sor- 
row about your lover, the long-lost one — and so on; you 
were so dreadfully submissive — when, however, I saw you 
so white and drooping in spite of your engagement with 
which all the rest were so delighted, then you excited my 
pity, and when you ran away yesterday, you captured my 
whole heart all at once — that is surely something. Elsie, 
every one does not do that; but hundreds of others would 
have calmly allowed the knot to be tied and would have 
become Frau von Hegebach. But you may rely upon me, 
Elsie, I will help you — and Moritz will too, now that Frieda 
is no longer angry with you.^^ 

“ Was she ever angry?^^ Elsie asked in astonishment. 

“ Why, child, did you have a shade before your eyes? 
Angry! — she was furious, she was madly jealous of you if 
Moritz but mentioned your name. The poor man has had 
a hard time. 

Elsie’s white face had grown scarlet. All at once the 
mysterious behavior of the young wife, and Moritz’s reserved 
avoidance appeared before her eyes in a clear light. “ And 
that tool” she groaned sorrowfully. 

“ Comfort yourself, my sweet child; there was an 
affecting reconciliation between them yesterday; Frieda 
cried like a child and Moritz continually asked: ‘Don’t 
you see how foolish you were, Frieda?’ And she said 
fater peccavi with such humility as I would never have 
credited her with. Now you will come with us to- 
morrow, Elsie? you will not stay here? It must be hor- 
ribly tiresome among all the ‘ stirred brothers’ and sisters’ 


A PENI^ILESS OEPHAI^. 


1(39 


hearts. * Listen, this is what I think. The Bennewitzer 
must have observed something by this time, and when he 
asks Moritz will tell him the whole truth, and then the en- 
gagement must be broken— do come with us, Elsie dear.'^ 
No,^^ said the girl, starting up, never! I can not.^' 

Lili was about to answer when some heavy object was 
thrown against the connecting door. 

“ Old people have a mind to sleep called Frau von 
Eatenow, in a voice of thunder; “ stop your chatter; I am 
tired to death. ” 

Elsie went silently to bed, but Lili chuckled on and off. 
Her aunk’s resolute conduct was an inexhaustible source of 
amusement to her. In the night she jumped up; the 
moon was shining brightly into the room, and low sobs 
from the other bed fell upon her ear. She put her hand 
on the soft fair hair which was scattered over the pillow. 
‘‘ Elsie, Elsie, are you crying?^^ she asked tenderly. Then 
it was still. 

Frau von Eatenow was abruptly awakened on the follow- 
ing morning; a letter had been brought by a messenger, 
and the little principal herself laid it in her hands. 

“ Mercy on us! the Bennewitzer^s handwriting!^^ How 
did he know she was here? Goodness, and all her joints 
ached so! With difficulty she raised herself a trifle. “ My 
spectacles, if you please. Sister Beate, I can not move.^^ 

The little Herrnhuter handed her what she desired and 
then left her alone. The room was silent; the slight 
rustling of the paper in the old lady’s hand was the only 
sound to be heard. The words which she read were few, 
but they turned her face white to the lips. She suddenly 
put her hand over her eyes; she felt giddy. Everything 
useless! All over! 

Lili!^’ she called, her voice sounding like a groan. The 
young woman came hastily, still in her dressing-gown and 
with flowing hair. ‘‘ Give that to Elsie, and then dress 
yourself,’’ pushing the letter toward her. 


170 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


‘‘ Will you start at once, aunt? Shall I tell Elsie? 

“ Elsie?^' She jumped up from the pillow; “ what 
have I to do with Elsie ?^^ she cried in a loud tone. “ He 
who soweth the wind shall reap the whirlwind! I hate ob- 
stinacy and ingratitude to the bottom of my heart 

“ Aunt!'^ Lili cried out, frightened to death by the ex- 
pression of the old lady’s face. 

“ Go!” she said. ‘‘We start in an hour!” 

The trembling girl stood before Elsie, who was just 
arranging her hair. “Elsie!” she said, “oh! heavens, 
aunt is so angry, so awfully angry!” The little hands 
dropped the heavy braids and grasped the paper. 

“ My deae Madame, — In great haste — the letter must 
go by the next train. I pray you, in my name, to release 
my cousin from her engagement. The rest when we meet 
— later. 

“ Respectfully yours, 

“ H. VON Hegebach.” 

For a moment the girl felt as if a heavy burden had 
been lifted from her breast, then she pressed her hands be- 
fore her face and a shudder ran over her whole frame. 

“ Elsie! Elsie!” cried Lili, throwing her arms around 
her; but she freed herself and touched the latch of Frau von 
Ratenow’s room; the door was locked. 

“ Is it you, Lili?” the old lady asked. 

“ No, it is Elsie, aunt,” she called imploringly. There 
was utter silence. 

“ Aunt!” sobbed the maiden. 

Still no reply. They only heard hurried steps and rapid 
preparations for the journey. 

“ One word, aunt!” 

She pulled and tugged at the door as if in agony. All in 
vain. Then she t-urned about and for an instant she re- 


A PEKKILESS ORPnAK. 


171 


mained motionless with her staring eyes fixed upon the 
window. Then she looked at Lili and it seemed as if she 
wanted to smile; but the tears gushed from her eyes; the 
full weight of desertion overcame her in that moment. 
Now indeed she had nothing left in the world. 

An hour later Frau von Katenow, leaning on Lilies 'arm> 
was walking laboriously up and down the platform at the 
station. The old lady was in severe pain as one could easily 
see by the expression of the closely compressed mouth. 
She was not well; she could have wept if she had ever been 
able to weep; she had only done that once: that was not 
when she laid her husband in the grave; 'it was when she 
had taken a little crying child from its dead mother. 
“Ah! indeed there has never been any gratitude in the 
world She began to scold about the train which was be- 
hind time; about the waiters because they stared at her; 
about the abominable coffee in the boarding-school, and 
then about her aching head, while Lili walked by her side 
in silence with a doleful face and tear-stained eyes. She 
turned back as often as possible toward the pointed gable- 
roofed house behind the fresh green trees, for it seemed as 
if a window must open there and a girlish head peer out 
in order to look across with longing eyes. 

" Niclits weiter mehr hab’ icli bergab und bergan 
Als zwei braune Augen, dast weinen ich kann,” 

The words which Elsie had sung long ago would not go 
out of Lilies head to-day. And then the train came. 

A week later an officer went through the little village on 
the express train. It did not stop, but the young man stood 
at the window of the coupe and looked thither as though 
this part of the green Thuringian land which he was hur- 
rying through were the most beautiful spot on earth. 
Then he sat down again, pushed a violin case somewhat to 
one side and drew out a pocket-book: taking a letter from 
it he began to read: 


172 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


‘‘ My dear Bernardi,— You have placed a pistol at 
my heart, and though I hate to write letters, especially those 
of a sentimental turn, still I will try to do so if it can set 
your mind at rest as you tell me. 

“ There is certainly not much comfort in the thing; that 
is to say, not much for you. I will confess that even my 
hardened soldier ^s heart was the least bit moved as I 
thought of a certain ball night when I felt myself called 
upon to give you a bit of good advice. It is indeed true. 
Very early one morning little Elsie von Hegebach forsook 
her warm nest at the Burg, to say nothing of leaving the 
most solicitous of aunts and a fatherly wee, in order to 
weep over — I donT know what — perhaps you do — in the 
quiet of the Herrnhuter colony. All sensible, thoughtful 
people, and you know how many such our walls have the 
honor of sheltering, shrug their shoulders and smile. It is 
so entirely out of fashion nowadays to run away from a 
rich suitor; indeed the romance begins first on the other 
side of the altar and then it is so much more interesting. 
The resolute little maiden has drawn down upon herself 
the deep displeasure of the old Erau von Ratenow, who, 
with her practical views of life, entertains serious doubts 
of her adopted child^s sanity. She herself came back from 
her pursuit extremely ill; they carried her from the 
carriage to her bed. According to to-day’a reports she is 
not any better yet. 

“ I do not need to assure you that our friends, especially 
the little talkers among the women, have sufficient material 
for gossip; that the name ‘ Bernardi ^ is often mentioned, 
you have, perhaps, anticipated — and unfortunately you are 
right. ‘ Das ist^s, was mir die Stirn trubt,^ says the poet. 
But what then? It is a pity about the pretty girl; who, 
however, in Heaven^s name, is to be blamed? It is neither 
your fault nor hers. It all hangs upon money; the whole 
trouble is about money. Why arenT you a baron with half 
a dozen estates? Why does man need so much for his mis- 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


173 


erable existence? Why, indeed? I will leave off ques- 
tioning or I shall grow positively sentimental. I can not 
get the little maiden with the sweet brown eyes out of my 
mind; you simply ought to have seen her on the day of the 
funeral. DonH imagine that I regret having spoken the 
truth to you at that time — of course not! it was my duty. 
It is to be hoped that she will forget even though it is 
harder for her than is usual; and don^t you play the de- 
votee; you can not help it. Man is the slave of circum- 
stances. Farewell, Bernard!. 

“ Yours, 

“ Yon Kost.^' 

How often that letter had been read already! how 
often! It was now laid away in the case once more, and 
the possessor of that same pocket-book sat and glared at 
one spot as if he expected to find the answer there to that 

why?^^ which was asked in the letter. An innumerable 
quantity of plans went through the young man^s head : 

the slave of circumstances!^^ he fairly gnashed his teeth 
in impotent wrath. Just then the train rushed past a 
guard-house on the edge of the forest. A young woman 
was sitting in the door- way, in the May sunshine, holding a 
child in her lap; the husband stood at the barrier, saluting 
the train, and the wife’s glances rested laughingly upon 
the flying line of carriages. All at once he was overcome 
by bitter envy; the children of the people may love and 
marry and be happy; if they have nothing to eat, they 
hunger together, as they work together. Elsie would have 
worked with him and suffered with him; he had read that 
in her dear eyes. Absurd! The heavy velvety robe of the 
“ duties of position ’’trails behind the children of the higher 
class; it is made of a thousand shreds and patches, but is 
put together into one magnificent whole, and appears so in- 
comparably becoming and comfortable to the rich man yet 
oppresses his poor brother so that only with care and 


174 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


trouble can lie fasten it to his shoulders, while without it 
he dare not show his face among his friends. No, indeed! 
How much misery and sorrow, how many disappointed 
hopes, how many renunciations it covers! But it is neces- 
sary. Society could not be imagined without this garb; it 
belongs to the whole system; it would be ridiculous to dis- 
pute that. The majority wear it easily, and as for the 
minority, who seem to suffocate under it — bah! Well, they 
suffocate, but they become accustomed to it at last. Elsie 
will comfort herself, while for him — perhaps there will be 
a war soon. 

‘‘ Elsie will not be comforted!^^ asserted an inward 
voice, ‘‘ Elsie will grieve all through her youth and be- 
come a lonely, imbittered old maid — the sunny beautiful 
creature.’^ And his thoughts went on further as they did 
every day*' of his life now. Yes — what then? Should he 
choose another calling? Instantly Frau von Eatenow stood 
before him as she had done on that memorable evening, and 
the sparkle of her diamonds again flashed about him. 

‘‘Do you really think that jieople in other professions 
live upon air? And do you believe that you will be con- 
tented after you have pulled off your gay-colored coat?'^ 

Then he reckoned up, as he had already done countless 
times: Merchant — without capital? Agriculturist — to re- 
main an overseer all his life? Artist — did he wish to swell 
the number of the army of mediocrity who are always cast 
down because they can never reach the mark at which 
they have aimed? It sounded merciless, and nevertheless 
it was true! He would rather leave the service and cross 
the sea; but there were his poor old father and mother, 
who had pinched themselves to the last pfennig in order to 
fulfill his burning desire to become a soldier! 

Farewell, sweet dreams! fare thee well, Elsie! The slave 
of circumstances! And what can a slave do? 

“ He has come back gloomier than he went away,^^ said 
his comrades the next day, talking together as they walked 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


175 


down the street after military duty, on their way to the 
club. “ Foolish fellow! I believe he is still pondering 
upon his unlucky love, another added; ‘‘incredible now- 
adays 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was again autumn. The wind was once more carry- 
ing on its rough play with the leaves and the tendrils of the 
creeper which hung about the veranda and had turned a 
brilliant red. 

A small fire crackled in the fire-place in Frau von Rate- 
now ^s room, and the old lady herself was seated before the 
window; she was as erect as ever, and while she knitted 
she looked out into the court. Her face was not as full as 
formerly; she had altered: the severe illness of the spring 
time had not passed without leaving traces’^ behind it. She 
had recovered very, very slowly. She had been in Baden- 
Baden in the summer, but only to long unspeakably for 
home. Frieda and Lili, who accompanied her, had been 
charmed to dress three times a day and go on walks to the 
springs, and make up afternoon parties among their new 
and quickly formed circle. She was glad when she could 
sit alone in the garden of the hotel and hear nothing of 
the silly noise and chatter. It was better at home. Aunt 
Lotte was there once more, and now she could speak her 
mind openly when the conversation turned upon Elsie; 
and Aunt Lotte was indefatigable in the way she brought 
up that subject. 

“ Nevertheless, you must concede this point to me, 
Lotte; that the child has wickedly and arrogantly put her 
foot upon her own happiness. 

“ Yes, Ratenowchen; but — 

“ But? There is no ‘ but;^ if I thought — Now let her 
drink the cup which she has brewed for herself — compro- 
mising herself and all of us so!^^ 


17G 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


‘‘ Ratenowchen, how can you talk so? Aunt Lotte con- 
cluded, weeping: “ how is it that you don^t want to read 
her letters? She writes so that the tears come into my eyes 
when I simply look at them! 

No reply would follow and the conversation would be 
once more at an end, only to be begun again after a few 
days with precisely the same conclusion. 

Aunt Lotte corresponded very regularly with her poor 
darling. She related every detail about the Burg and con- 
scientiously forwarded every message which Elsie intrusted 
to her. But there was one wish of the child ^s heart which 
she could not gratify; the old lady was not able to obtain a 
kind word for her from Aunt Ratenow. And also, as to 
whether the Bennewitzer were very deeply offended with 
Elsie, she could not procure the least evidence. 

The Bennewitzer was utterly impenetrable. He visited 
Frau von Ratenow exactly as before, and lately they had 
taken to playing chess together: he calmly smoked his 
cigar in the salon, and one day he astonished the old lady 
with the information that he had recently procured a dress- 
ing-gown and a long pipe, both of which he enjoyed at home 
like a veritable grandfather. 

“ But my dear Hegebach!^^ Frau von Ratenow looked 
at him incredulously; in her eyes he was still so young and 
handsome; at the same time it struck her that he had a 
suspicious number of gray hairs at the temples. 

He had never again asked after Elsie. When, how- 
ever, Aunt Lotte had gone to the graves which Elsie had 
begged her to visit now and then, she had always found 
them covered with the most beautiful flowers, and the 
grave-digger had told her that they had been sent by Herr 
von Hegebach. Aunt Lotte had, in a way, been glad to 
hear it and had once thanked him for it. “ But why?’^ he 
had asked, “ they were my people. 

For the rest, everything at the Burg was like the old 
days. Frieda had a governess for the' children and went to 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


177 


balls and parties with as much delight as ever. Moritz 
played whist and still held long conversations with his 
mother — only the apple of discord had vanished from the 
house; the light girlish step was no longer heard on the 
stairs; she used to run down the stairs so prettily; it was 
not really walking, it was flying — the graceful flgure was, 
all at once, at the foot, no one knew how. She no longer 
sung her little songs in the drawing-room nor played hide 
and seek with the. children in the deep bow-windows. 
Something was missing — something sweet and lovely: they 
all felt it, but no one spoke of it. Only sometimes in the 
twilight it seemed to Aunt Lotte as though the door must 
open and Elsie come springing in, crying in her clear, ring- 
ing voice, “ Aunt Lotte, dear Aunt Lotte!” And at times 
Aunt Eatenow would start up, imagining she too heard that 
voice, but anxious and imploring: “ Aunt, only one word, 
one word!’^ and afterward she would be in an indescribable 
mood, half angry, half sorrowful. 

♦ ♦ 4s ♦ * * ♦ 

No! if anything were ever to be done with the girl, she 
must be taught by severity. The Bennewitzer certainly 
was of her opinion; and perhaps she might grow more 
yielding in her melancholy nest yonder. 

It was quiet in the house to-day; a little while before, 
Frieda and Lili had paid the old lady a visit in order to 
show themselves in heavy rustling silk, in flowers and 
laces; in the complete splendor of full dress; they were ex- 
actly alike in pale blue and silver, even to the dainty little 
boots. They held huge bouquets in their hands, and the 
creamy ‘‘ Gloire de Dijon roses peeped out from the dark 
hair and adorned the dkolleU gowns. Annie Gramm was 
to be married to-day. 

The ceremony was to take place at three o^clock and the 
dinner at four; the whole town was on the qui vive to catch 
a glimpse of the bride, such fabulous stories* had been-told 
as to the magnificence which was to be seen. 


178 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


Aunt Lotte had been sitting in the church since half past 
one so as to be sure of getting a good place. 

The old Frau von Eatenow was entirely alone; she was 
thinking of the bridal pair who were just being married, 
and what a pitiful thing Annie Cramm really was for a 
wife, and wondering if she would be covered with lace and 
brocade; they were such an indifferent couple! it was a 
marriage without flavor. AYell! they were perfectly satis- 
fied and — they could certainly make life very easy; at least 
they would have no care. Then her thoughts fiew to Elsie; 
she saw the girl with Bernardi and she heard her laugh, and 
involuntarily her fancy crowded the two into the place of 
the other couple who were probably now taking the seats 
of honor at the handsome table for the wedding dinner. 
And suddenly this feast was before her at the Burg and she 
was sitting opposite them, and — 

“ Such nonsense!’^ and she cleared her throat and began 
to knit; but the picture was so fascinating it came again. 
As if there were anything more beautiful than a young 
bride and groom who love each other with their whole 
hearts! Elsie was really no worse than Annie Cramm, 
after all — only she had no money — Nonsense! Every- 
thing depends upon circumstances. 

It had gradually grown dark, when a carriage drove into 
the court. “The Bennewitzer? Ah! I presume he has 
come for dinner! Then he immediately came in and kissed 
her hand. 

“ What?’’ she asked, “ is it over already?” 

“ Oh, by no means, madame,” drawing his chair close 
to the old lady’s window-bench; “ I only had a longing to 
talk with you; I wanted to open my heart to you. ” 

She listened attentively. At last he was going to speak ! 
She might be able to excuse Elsie, she might — heavens! — 
perhaps — she did not dare to imagine it. 

“ The dinner was certainly delicious and the wines per- 
fect; one must admit that the old counselor of commerce 


A PEITNILESS ORPHAK. 


179 


has good taste. As for the rest, the groom is an ex- 
traordinary young husband; he abruptly left his ‘better 
half ^ during dessert and sat down by me. 

“ Very odd, certainly, the old lady assented. 

“ Yes, wasn^t it?* However he did not converse badly; 
has sensible views and appears practical. 

“ He has shown that to-day!^' Frau von Ratenow re- 
marked, dryly. 

“How! Ah, yes. Well, yes — chacun a son gout 
Moreover he spoke of Elsie. 

It was out. Her name had crossed his lips at last. 

“ She sent a little present yesterday. But indeed I had 
no intention of mentioning that to you, madame; excuse 
the digression. 

Frau von Ratenow was really perplexed. Had the Ben- 
newitzer taken too much of the “ perfect wines 

“ I am not sure that you can put yourself in my place, 
he continued, comfortably smoking, “ I hardly think so — 
and yet! women have an advantage in that; they are more 
sympathetic than the so-called ‘ stronger sex. ’ I feel so 
unutterably isolated; 1 don-t know for whom I work and 
live; it seems as if my whole house were gazing at me 
drearily; as if each fire-place were opening its mouth in a 
monstrous yawn and saying to me, ‘ What on earth are we 
here for?^ It can not go on so any longer, madame, for it 
makes me ill, physically and mentally. He was silent for 
a moment. “ Bennewitz is in fact a burden to me, and so 
now I have conceived the idea once more — 

He stopped; the ashes had fallen from his cigar upon 
his coat and on the carpet; he flicked them off with his 
fingers and trod out the glimmering sparks. 

“ To marry — the old lady completed his sentence in a 
melancholy tone. 

“ Is oV* he answered briefly, and leaned back in his 
chair. 

Frau von Ratenow started up and stared at him, but it 


180 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


was already dark and she could only make out that he was 
again ^looking past her out of the window. 

“No?’’ 

“ Certainly not, madame; I think of doing something 
else, something which will not necessarily bring the indi- 
viduals into such intimate relations and where there will 
be no dread of rejection — for that does hurt. No man is 
without vanity you know, and even with the most friendly 
understanding — a little sting is left.” 

The old lady sat in breathless expectation. “ I am 
going to try once more to bind a young life to mine, but in 
another way — I want to adopt a child.” 

It flashed across the old lady like lightning. 

“ Hegebach, you would — ^you could?” she cried joyfully; 
then she was speechless; “ but heavens, girls can not in- 
herit the property?” she said, doubtfully. 

“ Girls? Who spoke of a girl?” he asked. 

No reply, only a quick, deep breath. Well! the man 
was in the right: why. had Elsie acted so inexcusably? But 
it was bitter, bitter! Alas for the unhappy child! 

“ What have you to say to my plan, madame?” 

“An excellent one,” she returned, with effort, while a 
wave of pity for the poor girl who must now, indeed, make 
her own way in the world, extinguished almost the last 
trace of anger from her heart. 

“ At present the only question is of beginning the 
search,” said the Bennewitzer. 

“ You will And plenty of candidates!” 

“ Oh, that is certain!” He laughed for a second. “ The 
small property and estate will draw them forth as the rain 
does the mushrooms. It would be decidedly refreshing to 
find beings who would say ‘no!’ Wouldn’t it? Well! in 
any case I shall place my choice before you for your opinion 
and I shall begin to search at once. Apropos, how is my 
cousin?” 

“ I — I do not know, probably well,” Frau von Eatenow 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 181 

answered. The Bennewitzer’s conduct plainly stirred her 
up to-day. 

“ Good heavens, madame, you are not angry with her 
yet? You are certainly doing wrong! Do you know that, 
a thousand times, in my thoughts, I have begged for the 
child^s forgiveness for our sins against her? Yes, ours, I 
Bay, madame; yours and my cousin^s and mine. Our only 
excuse is that we meant it well. 

“ What good has it done her?^^ flashed through the old 
lady’s mind. 

“ Now I must take my leave. He rose. “ You said, 
did you not, madame, that you thought I was doing right? 
A man must have something upon which his heart is 
fixed.” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, dear Hegehach, and may you never regret 
the step!” 

When the door closed behind him, the old lady remained 
stationary in the middle of the room. “ Either he was a 
trifle cracked or else now, in his old days, he had got one of 
the Hegehach freaks — the Hegebachs were all queer!” 

That same evening she wrote a letter to Elsie. The poor 
child! To have everything end so. However, it was her 
own fault. It was an extraordinary epistle, half reproach- 
ful and half affectionate, and containing the request that 
the girl should return home. The old lady did not close 
her eyes all night long, and the next day she went about in 
deep thought; at the table she scarcely uttered a word, but 
the principal subject of conversation was the Bennewitzer’s 
new project. 

“ The man is perfectly right,” said Moritz, “ as a matter 
of course he* wishes to leave his property to some one who 
is near to him; indeed, under other circumstances it falls 
to the State. Still,” he added, “ he might easily have laid 
aside some pin money tor Elsie out of his private property.” 

‘^Yes,” Aunt Lotte agreed, “ it is a base revenge to 


182 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


leave her so entirely to her fate; in spite of all, he is her 
cousin. 

“ As if Elsie would accept it!^^ exclaimed Lilt, making 
a contemptuous little grimace. 

“ Oh, ho!"^ said Frau von Eatenow who until that mo- 
ment had been perfectly silent, “ she knows by this time 
what it means to take care of herself with her own hands; 
she would take it gladly — but my opinion is that he would 
be a fool if he were to offer it. 

“ You do not really believe that yourself, mother,'^ said 
Moritz, taking her hand. 

Frau von Eatenow had ordered her carriage to be ready 
directly after dinner. It stopped before the door, to the 
great amazement of her son. 

“ Where are you going, mother dear?^^ he asked as she 
came out of the house followed by a servant loaded with 
rugs and carrying a f9ot-muff ; the autumn day was cool and 
the old lady was wrapped in furs and wore a heavy hood 
besides. 

“ For a drive she replied, concisely. 

Moritz did not answer; he knew her nature so intimately, 
and he was sure that she had some particular design in her 
head. He assisted her into the carriage respectfully, but at 
the same time he was obliged to suppress a smile; the 
weather was far too wretched to have allured his mother 
into taking a drive for pleasure. 

The carriage rolled out of the court while Frau von Eate- 
now was still busily engaged in wrapping herself up com- 
fortably. At the Stadt-thor she threw off the robe§ again 
and glanced out of the window. “ Drive down the road 
toward Bustrow, Jochen, and go pretty fast.’^. 

The carriage rolled along the road indicated; the young 
fruit trees on either side seemed to fly past the solitary old 
lady, and the autumn wind whistled through the little 
coupe window; far off in the distance the Bustrow church 
tower rose up over an oak woodland. Everything looked 


A PEi^l^ILESS ORPHAlf. 


183 


SO cheerless, so fall-like and dreary under the cloudy sky — 
and Jochen drove on. Just before reaching Biistrow, 
Frau von Ratenow ordered him to stop. 

‘‘ Is that the road to Bennewitz?^^ 

“ To be sure, madame. 

“ Drive there, Jochen. 

Jochen turned and drove rapidly, for at that moment the 
first drops of rain were beginning to fall, and one could tell 
by the black clouds that there was going to be a regular 
gale. 

In ten minutes the horses stopped before the imposing 
old mansion, whereupon a servant appeared at once and 
assisted the old lady to alight. 

“ It is I, Seeben,^^ nodding to the astonished old man. 
“ Is you master at homer^^ 

“ Yes, madame; will the Frau Baronin be so glad as to 
walk in.^^ 

“ You may put up the horses for awhile, was the old 
lady’s order, and then she went into the house. 

In old times she had known it well, but now she was only 
the more astounded at its home-like charm together with 
its noble proportions. What had the Bennewitzer been 
doing to the neglected old house during all these years? 
What a splendid estate the old wilderness had become un- 
der his management! 

“ Foolish Elsie!” she muttered, as she stood in the 
drawing-room which was so comfortable and home-like and 
at the same time so elegant. It was such a room as can 
only be arranged by a person who had good taste, a love 
for the beautiful, and added to these, plenty of money. 

“ I will inform Herr von Hegebach,” said the servant, 
pushing one of the yellow pi usheasy-chairs before the open 
fire; ‘‘ he is engaged just for the moment.” 

Frau von Ratenow seated herself, and glanced at the 
large portrait over the mantel. 

“ His first wife,” she said to herself. “ Hegebach al- 


184 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


ways did have taste/^ she thought, still further, as she 
looked at the womanly figure which seemed to be ap- 
proaching her from the frame: a beautiful figure, in a soft 
white gown, the head somewhat turned to one side, so that 
the face was shown in profile; in the background the Ben- 
newitzer house could be seen emerging from the trees. On 
the chimney-piece, at the foot of the picture, s,toodi 2b jardi- 
niere filled with magnificent roses. 

He must have loved her devotedly, the musing woman 
thought, and wouldn^t it be hard for a successor if she 
were obliged to share her husband’s attention with his dead 
wife? Well, he certainly had no idea of marrying. 

She started up from her thoughts, for the sound of ani- 
mated conversation came from the adjoining room, and 
immediately afterward the door was opened, and a woman 
of perhaps forty years of age entered the drawing-room, 
followed by a slender, handsome boy of about fifteen. 
They both bowed as they passed Frau von Eatenow, while 
she looked at them with exceedingly mixed feelings; she was 
half astonished, half disconcerted. She made a sudden 
movement with her head, and muttered, Ah, indeed!” 
as if she had discovered something important, but at the 
same time something rather disagreeable. 

All at once she became impatient, as if she had come 
here without the least use, and as if she and everything 
she wanted were wretchedly superfluous. 

But the Bennewitzer already stood before her, and was 
drawing her hand to his lips. 

“ My dear Frau von Eatenow, to what am I indebted for 
the rare honor of this visit?” 

“ Yes, you may well ask that, Hegebach! It is very odd 
of me, isn’t it, to make such a sudden invasion upon you?” 

“ It is delightful, madame!” 

He pressed her to be seated once more, and then took a 
.chair opposite. 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


185 


“ I will not stay very long, Hegebach! I almost believe 
that I have disturbed you in — in an important moment. 

“ Not in the least; there is plenty of time,^^ he replied. 

“ He is a handsome boy, Hegebach!’^ 

“The one who Just went through here?^^ he asked. 
“ Ay, a fine lad!^^ 

“ He is, indeed, she assented; then they were both si- 
lent. 

The Bennewitzer had gone to touch the bell. 

When he returned, he began: 

“lam glad that you have come, madame; otherwise, if 
it had been possible, I should have gone to you. I am 
restless and excited. You very well understand why. It 
is a step which can never be called an unimportant one. 
Suddenly, to desire to bring a stranger near to you, to ex- 
pect and demand everything of him which under ordinary 
circumstances is only authorized by the ties of blood — love, 
forbearance, reverence; to be obliged to give to this stran- 
ger, to be to him what one has been to his own children — 
it is somewhat peculiar, madame, and it is anything but 
easy, as you can readily believe. 

The old lady nodded; her mind was fixed upon the good- 
looking boy who had gone through the room a little while 
before. She could no longer endure the doubt. 

“Pardon me, Hegebach she began, drawing along 
breath, “ but was that fine-looking fellow one of the can- 
didates for the position of your son?’^ 

“ Who?^" 

“ The one who Just now, with his mother — 

“ Ah, madame, no, no! lam his guardian, it is true, 
and have a keen interest in him; he was my poor Hein- 
rich's best friend, but — " 

“ Pardon me, Hegebach!" 

Frau von Eatenow breathed easily once more. 

“ However, I have already entered into negotiations in 
another place, and am hourly expecting tidings. " 


186 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 


The old lady was again sitting upon coals. 

Well, my friend, I wish you all good for time 

She rose abruptly; it was already deep twilight. 

‘‘ I must hurry home; they have no idea where I have 
been; besides, there is no longer any object in my tarry- 
ing. I — You will excuse me, Hegebach; I came to 
make a proposal to you. I — I had a plan, but now it is too 
late. 1^0 offense, Hegebach?^^ 

He made no response, and absolute silence reigned in the 
room, except for the soft ticking of the clock and the rust- 
ling of the heavy silk as the old lady fastened her cloak. 

“Adieu, Hegebach; you know old women like to stick 
their noses into other people^s affairs; but it was meant 
well.^^ 

He followed her to the door without speaking. Finally 
he asked: 

“ Why are you in such haste? Will you not take some 
refreshment, madame?^’ 

She declined. She had already laid her hand upon the 
handle of the door, when she turned back a step ; the old 
servant had come in with a lamp, and had handed a tele- 
gram to Ills master. 

“Just one moment, madame,^^ he said, urgently, and, 
stepping up to the light, he tore open the envelope. 

“ Bead it,^^ he then said. “ I have been unfortunate 
again and he handed the paper to her. 

She took up her eyeglasses, and read : 

“ Kefused; exhorted in vain. 

“Von Rost.^' 

“ What does this mean?^^ she asked, hastily. 

“ The mitten from my chosen son!^^ 

He had grown pale. Aunt Ratenow stared at the mes- 
sage., and everything danced before her eyes; she read the 
name of the place from which it had been sent, then she 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


187 


read tlie signature, and there was a perfect tempest of joy 
in her old heart. 

“ You are particularly anxious about this one?^^ 

“ This one — only this one,^^ he said, “ very anxious.^' 
Give me authority, Hegebach; you scarcely know him; 
let me — 

“ I hardly know him at all,^’ he acknowledged; “ only 
one thing determined me to select him, the — 

‘‘ Hegebach!’^ The old lady stepped up to the man 
who still stood beside the table, lightly resting his hand 
upon it, as if in profound meditation: “ Hegebach!'^ 

8he tried to say more, but she suddenly began to weep; 
she was weeping for joy, and yet she was furious with her- 
self. There was nothing more disagreeable to her than 
to be caught in anything which savored of soft-hearted- 
ness; and so she resolutely dried her eyes and began to 
scold. 

I really ought to abandon you, Hegebach, truly! Look 
at me! such secrecy! It always turns out like that, 
though, when two of the so-called stronger sex join to- 
gether to contrive something remarkably clever. Eost! 
No doubt he has chattered a lot of trash; you couldn^t 
have found a better deputy, certainly. And why, if you 
please, shouldnT I know anything of the matter? Con- 
fess, now, Hegebach!’' 

He smiled. 

We wanted to surprise you, madame, for you had cer- 
tainly never thought of him." 

“Indeed?" she asked; and then she laughed in the 
midst of her tears. “ However, in spite of that, the old 
Eatenow must do her best in the affair once more." 

Yes, assuredly, she must. Late in the evening, Moritz 
heard that his mother proposed going on a journey. He 
shook his head, but nevertheless she went early on the fol- 
lowing morning. After three days she returned home. 
Then the Bennewitzer came, and after that they started off 


188 


A PENKILESS ORPHAN. 


together. This time the others knew their destination^ at 
least; they were going to Berlin. 

“ Does mamma wish to find a son for the Bennewitzer, 
because they failed in getting him a wife Frieda inquired; 
“ if I could only explain one thing to myself, Moritz — 

“ And that isr^" 

“ 1 always believed until now that when mamma wanted 
him to marry, she was interested merely on Elsie^s account. 
What good it will do her to help him to adopt a son is a 
mystery to me! It is nothing to her, is it, Moritz 

Moritz was ungallant enough not to answer; he only 
whistled softly to himself. 

Herr and Frau von Eost came in in the evening. Out- 
of-doors it was raining fast and a high wind was blowing; 
but at such times it was particularly cozy in Frieda^s blue 
boudoir. 

They had come back from their wedding- journey very 
speedily; Annie had been everywhere, and the weather was 
disagreeable; besides, Eost had chosen such extraordinary 
routes! 

Instead of going to Vienna, he had carried his wife to 

the obscure little town of H ; and while there, he had 

disappeared completely for half a day, “ for the purpose of 
buying a horse, he had told Annie afterward; for even in 
the honey-moon cavalry officers have an undisputed right 
to attend to business connected with horses. 

And then — Annie related it half laughingly, half in 
anger — the climax had been capped by the tyrant taking 
her to Berlin; “ To Berlin, which I know as well as my own 
native town. Then I was out of patience !^^ 

“ For the rest, we saw your mother-in-law,” she added, 
as if questioningly. 

“ Eeally, mamma is there on a secret mission and 
Frieda shook her head. 

“ The Bennewitzer was in Berlin, too,^^ Annie continued. 


A PENKILESS OEPHAI^. 


189 


“ Bernard! sent his regards to everyone also,” the young 
husband added, putting up his eyeglass to look at Frieda. 

“ In Berlin?^ ^ she cried, with undisguised astonishment. 

Moritz laughed softly to himself, then left the room, as 
he wished to go to the station to meet his mother, who was 
returning home. 

‘‘ Well, my boy,^^ said his mother, an hour later, as she 
sat by her son^s side in the carriage which was rolling rap- 
idly toward the Burg, ‘‘ it is all arranged. But all the 
turnings have cost no end of trouble. . What do you think, 
Moritz, Hegebach was even obliged to go to the emperor! 
Such cunning laws as men have thought out to make life 
hard for each other! In a few weeks the Bennewitzer will 
have a son, Moritz — and such a son!^^ 


CHAPTER XVL 

It was winter. 

The little Herrnhuter village lay desolate under the 
bare trees; the far-away mountains could easily be seen 
through the leafless branches, and there was already snow 
upon the peaks. 

The Thuringian beech-logs were blazing and crackling in 
the fire-places of the boarding-school, and the lamps had 
to be lighted early in the afternoon. 

Elsie von Hegebach was just coming out of the school- 
room; at least thirty little maidens were rushing around 
her and in front of her, springing about in the new fallen 
snow in the greatest glee, and at once beginning an ardent 
battle with snow-balls. The young girl stood in the door- 
way, watching how this one started and flew through the 
air, and how that one struck, and listening to the merry 
shouts of the children, and a smile swept across her white 
face; she had been just like that once, too. She drew in 
long, deep breaths of the invigorating snow-air; it was so 
delicious after the dull school-room! 


190 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


Then she walked across the garden, and mounted the 
narrow, creaking stairs, and found herself alone in her own 
little room, and the favorite hour of the day had begun for 
her. Then she would read or write letters, or else sit by 
the window looking olf into the distance, and dreaming. 
Yes, what would one dream of if one were all alone, with 
a violin in the next room playing the old sweet melodies! 
Miss Brown, the English teacher, used always to play the 
violin at this hour. 

Sometimes Elsie could not listen to it; those were the 
days when heart-ache and longing laid hold of her with all 
their might; the days when she felt she could not bear this 
life forever and ever! 

Her poor head ached, and her heart throbbed, and her 
eyes burned from the inconsolable weeping; and she 
would ask why she alone had no happiness — no happiness 
at all? 

Then she would fly from the sound of the violin, and run 
away into the wind and rain, out-of-doors, no matter how 
far; or else she would take refuge with Sister Beate, sitting 
there for hours in utter silence. 

“ I can not listen to the violin. Sister Beate. 

But, Elizabeth, I will give you another room/^ 

No, no, indeed! Ho, indeed!"^ she would answer. 

To-day she stood before the old cabinet, lost in thought; 
she had pulled out the upper drawer, and now she took 
several papers in her hand, and sat down by the window 
with them; she had received these letters about eight 
weeks before, and they had given her so much to think 
about that she seemed forced to read them over and over 
again. 

“ Dear Elsie, — You know that I was not angry with 
you on my own account, but simply because you took 
things into your own hands, and certainly with no good re- 
sult, Well, that can no longer be changed; you must carry 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


191 


the load you have packed up for yourself; the Lord will 
certainly guide your steps into the right paths, although I 
must confess I am not pious enough to believe that our 
whole lifers journey stands written down (like a plan for a 
building, perhaps), when we are still lying in our cradles. 
That is the belief of the Turks! I say that God gave us 
reason so that we might examine and act. You have not 
used your reason as you ought, but have allowed yourself 
to be conquered by your foolish little heart; the conse- 
quences are even worse than I expected; but silence on that 
subject; you will learn it soon enough, and repentance will 
be of no avail. Now, Elsie, I beg of you to come back 
again! You shall not lose the home of your childhood. 
Free yourself from your obligations there; you are needed 
here too, and more than that, when you are here you are 
eating no stranger’s bread, which, according to the old 
saying, has seven crusts. I believe you will soon come; the 
winter evenings are long, and it would give me great pleas- 
ure to hear you read aloud, as you did last year. 

Your always faithful 

“ Aunt Katenow. ’’ 

She shook her head. 

‘"No!” she said, under her breath, and laid the letter 
aside. “ I am not a trained spaniel, which leaps over a 
stick when any one holds it before him! No!” 

She sat for awhile, then seized the second letter; it was 
in Lili’s scrawling handwriting. She skipped the descrip- 
tion of Annie Gramm’s wedding, and her eyes were fast- 
ened upon the concluding sentences of the letter: 

“A telegram came from Bernard!, too,” she read. 
“ But now prepare to be astonished; the new-made hus- 
band seems to be fast friends with the Bennewitzer; for he 
abruptly left his fond wife in the lurch and sat down by 
him directly opposite me. They talked most earnestly to- 
gether, and in very low tones, in a most improper man- 


192 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


ner; during the whole time, I could not get a glance from 
the Bennewitzer; finally they drank a toast together, and 
then separated. After dinner Herr von Hegebach van- 
ished, and, as I learned later, he must have spent the rest 
of the evening with Aunt Katenow. You see how it is, 
Elsie, and now comes what I especially wanted to telJ you; 
I have no more hopes of the Bennewitzer’s ‘ settling down. ' 
Do you want to know why? He is already bargaining for 
an elbow-chair; he will never marry again. He intends to 
adopt a son ! 

Your aunt says it is very wise, but inwardly she is furi- 
ous; I can see it; for, my treasure, she has always planned 
that you should live at Bennewitz; when she left you in 

D , and would not forgive you, well — that was only as 

a last resort; she thought to tame you by hunger! Now 
you know how things stand. 

“ Alas! dear Elsie, I fear we shall both die old maids, 
and I, for one, have not the least talent for it. I’m not 
like Aunt Lotte; she was born an old maid.’’ 

Yes; Lili was right. Aunt Eatenow had meant to sub- 
due her; but now, thank Heaven! the Bennewitzer him- 
self had disappointed her sorely. No, no; aunt had always 
meant it kindly, but to go back to her — never! 

She thought of all the long, wakeful nights and the mis- 
erable days which she had endured, and then the memory 
of — 

“No!” 

She unfolded a third sheet. She had written this; it was 
the rough draught of her reply to Aunt Eatenow: 

“ My dear Aunt, — A ccept many thanks for your kind 
words, which have rejoiced and comforted me more than I 
can tell you. It was a heavy burden to me to feel that I 
had excited your displeasure, and during the many sad days 
which have followed your departure the only thing which 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 


193 


has sustained me has been the consciousness that I had 
done right. Accept heartfelt thanks for the love which you 
have always given me, and which has been shown anew 
to-day. How could I ever forget what you have done for 
me! But do not consider me stubborn and ungrateful. I 
shall stay here; I feel that work is the only thing which 
could have helped me in the midst of all the painful exper- 
iences of the past year — 

She dropped the letter. Had she written too sharply? 
she asked herself. But who gathers sweet fruit from a 
broken tree? Her pen had written it involuntarily. She 
bundled the letters together again and sat perfectly still, 
listening to the music of the violin, which came from the 
next room. 

Miss Brown seemed to be in a mournful mood to-day; 
she had begun with “ Home, Sweet Home.^^ 

She was a tall, red-haired, freckled being, in whose eyes 
there lay an expression of continual home-sickness; her 
dearest hours, she had confided to Elsie, were those in the 
twilight, when she was playing the violin. 

Elsie closed her eyes and dreamed of the music which 
another hand had made — a hand which had guided the bow 
in such a masterly manner, and of tones which were infi- 
nitely sweeter and tenderer. How vivid it all was! There 
was the Hungarian dance, and now — how did the English- 
woman happen upon the German Volks-songs? 

Wer ist so verlassen wir icli auf der Welt? 

Nicht Vater noch Mutter, kein Glttck und kein Geld, 

Nichts welter mehr hab’ ich — ” 

Then she began to cry again; where did all the tears 
come from? 

How she heard some one mounting the stairs outside. 
Who could be making such a noise and stumbling about so? 

Apparently the lamp had not been lighted in the hall. 


194 


A PEKifILESS OEPHAK. 


Now he was going past her door, groping his way, and 
stepping heavily; he knocked at the next door, and the 
music ceased. 

‘‘ Come in,^^ she heard Miss Brown call out; and direct- 
ly afterward, Dear me!’^ Then a deep, manly voice, 
which seemed to be apologizing and asking, for some infor- 
mation: “ I beg you, sir, come in, if you please she ex- 
claimed, in her broken German. 

Instantly Elsie stood in the door-way, peering keenly 
into the thick dusk, with her hands pressed tight against 
her throbbing heart. 

“ Moritz?” she said, softly and questioningly. 

“ Elsie! my dear little girl, where on earth are you? A 
man canT see his hand before his face in this Egyptian 
darkness. Surely, little girl, you werenT expecting me!” 

Indeed, it was Moritz^s familiar voice. They stood in 
the little room. Elsie could not understand it yet. 

“ Moritz— you?^" ' 

She lighted the lamp with her trembling fingers, and 
then she saw his face. 

“ Yes, it is I,” and he took off his overcoat, on which 
the snow was beginning to melt, and then he grasped both 
of her hands. “ What does he want now? Are you asking 
yourself that? He wants to take you home, you runaway; 
I dare not show myself again at the Burg without you.^’ 

She shook her head and looked at him steadily, with the 
eyes that told of so many tears. 

He smiled and seated himself comfortably upon a chair 
near the stove. 

‘‘ Only for a few days^ visit, Elsie. Mother feels she 
must talk with you; she was not equal to the journey or 
she would have come herself; she is not quite strong yet. 
She was very sick indeed in the spring. So now they have 
sent me.’^ 

“ Aunt wrote to me a long time ago,^’ said Elsie, 

“ I know it, and you answered her letter. 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 


195 


Elsie had blushed. 

I could not do anything else, Moi:itz.^^ 

“ Mother wishes nothing further from you, Elsie; sim- 
ply that you shall come with me. You are free to leave 
us again at any moment. 

‘‘ I don’t believe I can, Moritz — ” 

“ You can, Elsie; dress yourself warmly and come.” 

“ What do you mean, Moritz.^ Now — ^like this! With- 
out any further ceremony?” 

‘‘ Oh, I have been down-stairs in the conference room 
for an hour talking with Sister Beate. Everything is ar- 
ranged.” 

‘‘ I don’t want to go!” she said, defiantly. 

“ Of course you don’t,” he responded, ‘‘ or you wouldn’t 
be a Hegebach. Obstinacy lies in the blood. ” 

‘‘Moritz!” The tears stood in her eyes once more. 
“ Ever since I have been in the world, I’ve never given 
anything but trouble and sorrow to every one; I don’t 
mean to do it, but nevertheless it is true; to my father, to 
your mother, and to you. Yes, Moritz, to you, too; and 
you have always been so good to me. Oh! leave me here 
— do leave me here!” 

He laughed so suddenly and so heartily that the violin in 
the next room stopped in the midst of a brilliant run, as 
if it were frightened to death. 

“ You good, foolish little girl!” and he put her arm 
around her; “ so you knew that too? Well, let me tell 
you for your comfort that Fried a was the very first one to 
make the proposal that I should and ^nust come and get 
you. Aunt Lotte, it is true, offered to do it; but Frieda 
insisted upon having her own way. Are you satisfied now? 
Well, I’ll let you cry a little; you may have a quarter of 
an hour for that, and in the meantime, for the sake of sci- 
ence, I will try your far-famed ‘ liqueur ’ at the hotel. I 
will come back in fifteen minutes, Elsie, and I pray you 
light the lamp in the hall; it’s as much as a man’s life is 


196 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


worth to climb those old stairs in the dark. ‘ Auf wied- 
erschin ^ — be quick now 

She seated herself defiantly; she did not wish to go, and 
no one was able to compel her. What right had they to 
drag her forth from her hardly earned peace? 

She was still sitting there when Moritz returned. 

His honest eyes were filled with grievous astonishemnt, 
but he took liis watch in his hand and once more seated 
himself by the stove; his mouth said, “ Ten minutes more,^-’ 
but the eyes said, “ I would not have believed that!^^ 

She rose, took her cloak from the Wardrobe, and selected 
a few things from the bureau, and put them into a travel- 
ing-bag. Then she stood still, looked around the room, 
and again, ‘‘ I can not!^^ fell from her lips. 

The next minute, however, she was down in the vesti- 
bule of the main house, ready to set out on the journey, 
and shaking hands with Sister Beate: 

“ God bless you, Elizabeth fell upon her ear. 

‘‘ I shall come back soon. Sister Beate. 

“ If it is the Lord^s will!” said the gentle little woman. 

Out-of-doors the snow was falling in fine white flakes, 
and the delicious snowy air blew across the girBs forehead. 

‘‘ You are warmly dressed, little girl?^^ Moritz asked, 
anxiously 

She nodded, and walked by his side in silence. 

It was the very last moment, and Elsie scarcely knew 
how she got into the light, warm compartment so quickl3% 

“ It is a good train, Moritz said, as they started; ‘‘ it 
only takes five hours. We shall be at home at eleven 
o^clock.” 

‘‘ At home!” 

The girl turned away and looked out of the window. 
She had an overwhelming sensation of treacherous com- 
pliance and weakness of character; it made her almost sick. 
He noticed that she did not feel at her ease, and tried to 
entertain her. 


A PEKNILESS ORPHAN. 


197 


“ I don^t know a single item of news, Elsie, he com- 
menced. “ The von Hosts are exceedingly gay. Erau 
Annie still excels in distingue toilets. Lili is on the point 
of becoming engaged — so she writes to my wife; it is an old 
love, I believe; hitherto my father-in-law has opposed the 
thing resolutely — it is a school love affair — but you prob- 
ably know ail about it. Now he has had the good fortune 
to become a private tutor at Heidelberg, and the little 
chicken has carried her point; she always seemed so 
fickle—"^ 

Elsie looked up but said nothing. She was growing 
more and more miserable. 

“Another thing — the Bennewitzer has carried out his 
plan. Will you allow me to smoke a little, Elsie? Thank 
you ; and now he is the happy possessor of an adopted son. 
Is it too warm for you here, Elsie?” 

“ Yes; please open the window. 

“ Mother was obliged to give her assistance in the mat- 
ter,^ ^ he continued, lightly blowing the cigar-smoke into 
the air; “he certainly never would have succeeded if she 
had not helped. Now he appears to be pefectly contented. ” 

“ I am glad,^^ she said. 

It was the first time she had spoken voluntarily. 

He intends to celebrate the event very soon, and mag- 
nificently. You may imagine, Elsie, that he is once more 
the talk of the town. 

Yes, to be sure; and she too, probably. And she had 
been foolish enough to come! 

She wrapped her cloak around her, drew her veil over 
her face, and leaned her head back against the cushions. 
She was inexpressibly angry with herself. 

So the train rushed through the night, and Moritz went 
to sleep, and the nearer they came to their journey ^s end, 
the more. frightened she grew — unutterably frightened. 

It seemed as if she were in a dream when she fotuad 


198 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


herself in the carriage; like an old, sad dream — and still 
such a sweet one! 

The coachman^ s ‘‘Good-evening^^ had a most cheery 
sound, and the little coupe was filled with the delicate per- 
fume which Frieda loved so dearly. She was overcome 
simply by the remembrance of the happy old days, and her 
heart grew warm in spite of herself. 

She stood in the hall in confusion, and Moritz excused 
Frieda for not being there to welcome her. She was doubt- 
less fast asleep, and his mother as well; but Aunt Lotte 
was awaiting her upstairs, and would she go directly up to 
her own room? 

Once more she mounted the broad stairs with their thick, 
soft carpet, and in Aunt Letters door she saw a beloved 
little figure standing with outstretched arms. 

“Ah! thank God! Elsie, my darling, you are here!” 
and the weeping littie aunt threw her arms around her. 
“Oh! how lovely that you are back again! Now every- 
thing will be all right. ” 

How fast good old Aunt Lotte could talk! and how she 
compelled her to drink the hot tea! and how silently the 
girl sat until at last she said: 

“ DonH I smell violets?’^ 

“ It only seems so to you, dear; it is the fragrance of 
recollection. Yes, yes; ah! I understand that.^^ 

Then the old lady insisted that the girl should go to rest; 
she must sleep; she must be fresh to-morrow. She looked 
so white! 

Then Elsie lay in bed and looked around the room, 
where everything was dimly visible in the light of the snowy 
winter night. The expiring flames still played in the por- 
celain stove, and were reflected in the polished inlaid floor; 
over yonder stood the old chest, and there was the dolFs 
cabinet; it was all so indescribably beloved and cozy. 

^Against her inclination she felt herself so at home, so 


A PENNILESS ORPHAN. 


199 


sheltered! and then dreams and reality began to contend 
with each other, and she fell asleep. 

It was broad daylight when she awoke, and the golden 
sunbeams were shining into the pleasant room. 

It was true, after all; she did smell violets. 

She rubbed her eyes, and could not exactly remember. 
Then she flew up from the pillows. Frau von Batenow 
was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking very sol- 
emn, with an immense bunch of violets in her hand. 

“ Good-morning to you, you lazy LisaP^ 

‘‘Oh! aunt, pardon me,^^ Elsie stammered, in embar- 
rassment. 

“ I am delighted that you have come, little one; and 
now shake hands with me. Now, then, no more obstinacy, 
and no more hostility, is there? The old aunt never meant 
it unkindly, you must understand that: and now she begs 
your pardon if she has plagued and tormented you. Do 
you know how hard it is for an old lady like me to say to 
a child, ‘ I beg you don^t be angry any longer?^ 

With these words she drew the girl tenderly to her, and 
stroked her face, and with that the bouquet of violets fell 
on the counterpane. 

“ They are from the Bennewitzer, Elsie,^^ she said. 

Elsie instantly grew perfectly white. 

“Yes, really, Elsie. And I have a message for you 
besides; but dress yourself quickly. Meanwhile, I will 
stay with Aunt Lotte. 

The girl made her toilet with her heart throbbing with 
anxiety. No; it was not possible; they could not have pre- 
pared for another assault upon her. Ah, no! Indeed, 
Moritz had said that he had an adopted son; they probably 
only wanted to bring about a reconciliation. 

Then she entered Aunt Lotte’s cheerful living-room. 

“Oh! such an delighful winter’s day!” her aunt ex- 
claimed, pointing to the window. 


200 


A PENKILESS OEPHAK. 


Exactly right for a sleigh-ride,^^ corroborated Erau von 
Eatenow. “ How would you like a sleighing-party, Elsie? 
How, however, I beg you to come. Are you ready, Lotte? 
We are all to take breakast with Moritz, Elsie. And she 
took the young girEs arm and walked along the corridor 
with her. “ Well, there is no help for it, Elschen. I am 
really obliged to tell you,^^ she said, as they were going. 
“ The Bennewitzer sends his kindest remembrance to you — 
the old one, understand; the younger does not yet venture 
so far; and he promised your father on his death-bed that 
he would take care of you, would guard and protect you; 
and he must keep his word. How, as you would have 
nothing to do with him, he hopes to have adjusted it a lit- 
tle more to your liking, so that you may become his 
daughter-in-law; but, child, don^t be frightened! What 
is the matter? Hold her. Aunt Lotte 

But that was no longer necessary, for, just as the door 
was being opened into the drawing-room, Elsie suddenly 
leaned upon the old lady^s shoulder, as if she had lost con- 
sciousness. 

“ Elsie! Elsie! She was always so courageous, and will 
she faint now? Yes, yes; the BennewitzeEs son plays the 
violin; he is a very fine, talented young man.^^ 

All at once Elsie found herself alone in the beautiful 
room; she had grasped the back of one of the chairs, and 
was listening with failing consciousness. Surely it was not 
possible! Everything which her aunt had said, and which 
still rang in her ears, it all whispered of an inexpressibly 
great and wonderful happiness. Ho; surely it could not be! 
Then the music ended abruptly, and swift, joyful steps 
came up behind her, and then a voice — a voice : 

‘‘ Elsie, what is happiness, if we have not found it?^' 
They were all perfectly silent in the adjoining room^ 
Aunt Ratenow went to the portiere and drew aside the 
folds for a second, and glanced through; then she turned 
back to the Bennewitzer, and nodded her head earnestly. 


A PENNILESS OKPHAN. 


201 


She gave him her hand, and they stood together at the win- 
dow, looking out into the snow-covered garden. 

“ Tick-tack, tick-tack!’^ said the little clock. Beyond 
that there was no sound, no word from the other room; 
only once a soft sob. 

“ Well, show yourselves, children Moritz called out, 
finally; the thing lasted too long for him. 

They came, and then a young girl, glowing with happi- 
ness and joy, hung upon the Bennewitzer^s neck. 

“ Cousin she stammered, “you have forgiven me; 
you are so good — far too good to mel^^ 

“ I have nothing to forgive, my child, he said, gently. 

“ How can I ever thank you, cousin 

“ 111 tell you how. Come to Bennewitz very soon, 
Elsie; it is wretchedly lonely there. 

“ She did not want me — truly, she did not want me. 
Confess it, Elsie!” And Bernard! drew her out of the 
Bennewitzer^s arm to his own breast. “ She said she was 
only a poor girl!” 


THE END. 


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iam Black 20 

Sealed Lips. F. Du Boisgobey. 20 
Strange Story, A. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

Hard Times. By Chas. Dickens 10 
Sea Queen, A. By W. Clark 

Russell 20 

Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 
Dick Sand; or, A Captain at 

Fifteen. By Jules Verne 20 

Privateersman, The. By Cap- 
tain Marry at 20 

Red Eric, The. By R. M. Ballan- 

tyne 10 

Ernest Maltraver^. By Sir E. Bul- 
wer Lytton 20 

Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 
raphy 20 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

Fire Brigade, The. By R. M. 

Ballant 3 'ne lO 

Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal- 

lantyne .' 10 

All in a Garden Fair. By Wal- 
ter Besant 20 

Woman-Hater, A. By Charles 

Reade 20 

Barbara’s History. By Amelia 

B. Edwards ' 20 

20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. 

By Jules Verne 20 

Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

Moonstone, The. Wilkie Collins ^ 
Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 
Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 
gobey. 1st half 20 

Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 
gobey. 2d half 20 


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105 Noble Wife, A. John Saunders 20 

lOG bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 

ens. Second half 20 

107 Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. First half 20 

107 Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

108 Cricket on the Hearth, The. 

By Charles Dickens 10 

108 Doctor Marigold. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 10 

111 Little School-master Mark, The. 

By J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 Waters of Marah, The. By John 

Hill 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion, By M. 

G. Wightwick .. 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. C. 

J. Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

116 Moths. By “Ouida” 20 


117 Tale of the Shore and Ocean, A. 

By William H. G. Kingston.. 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Dering. “ The Duchess ” 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “The Duchess’’ 10 

120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby. By Thomas Hughes. 20 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy 20 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

123 Sweet is Time Love. By “ The 

Duchess ’’ 10 

124 Three Feathers. By Wm. Black 20 
1^ Monarch of Mincing Lane, The. 

By William Black 20 

126 Kiliheny. By William Black.. 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketches. 

By “Ouida’’ 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “The Duchess” 10 

130 Last of the Barons, The, By Sir 

E. Bulwer Li'tton. 1st half.. 20 

130 Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 

E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half.. 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 


Dickens. First half 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. Second half 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

133 Peter the Whaler. By William 

H. G. Kingston 10 

134 Witching Hour, The, and Other 

Stories. Bv “ The Duchess ”. 10 

135 Great Heiress, A : A Fortune in 

Seven Checks. By R. E. Fran- 
cillon 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories. By “ The 
Duchess ” 10 


137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besaut 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By Wm. Black 20 

139 Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 

maid, The. By Thomas Hardy 10 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wai- 

ter BesanJ 10 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 

Thomas 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. By John 

B. Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By Emile 

Gaboriau 10 


145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man. By Robert Buchanan. 20 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 

Stories. By Walter Besaut 


and James Rice 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Troll- 

ope 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By Charlotte M. Braeme, au- 
thor of “Dora Thorne” 10 

149 Captain’s Daughter, The. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W, 

Speight 10 

151 Ducie Diamonds, The. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

152 Uncommercial Traveler, The. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

153 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Buch- 

anan 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

156 “ Fora Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

157 Milly’sHero. By F. W. Robinson 20 

158 Starling, The. By Norman 

Macleod. D.D 10 

159 Captain Norton’s Diary, and 

A Moment of Madness, By 
Florence Marryat 10 

160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 

Tytler 10 

161 Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton 20 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 

rell 20 

164 Leila ; or. The Siege of Grenada. 

By Bulwer Lytton 10 

165 History of Henry Esmond, The. 

By William M. Thackeray... 20 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. 

By “The Duchess” 10 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

170 A Great Treason, By Mary 

Hoppus. First half 20 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Ediiton. 


170 A Great Treason. By Mary 

Hoppus. Second half 20 

171 Fortune’s Wheel. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

173 Foreigrners, The. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge. 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

176 An April Day. By Philippa Prit- 

tie Jepnson 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the Highlands. 

By Queen Victoria 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Far.ieon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 

Buchanan 10 

182 Millionaire, The 20 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 

ries. By Florence Marryat.. 10 

184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris 20 


185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 Canon’s Ward, The. By James 

Payn 20 

187 Midnight Sun, The. By Fredrika 

Bremer 1 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
ot ‘‘Dora Thorne” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 20 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden 10 

193 Rosary Folk, The. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “So Near, and Yet So Far!” 

By Alison.. 10 

195 “ Way of the World, The.” By 

David Christie Murray 20 

196 Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 20 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 Husband’s Story, A 10 

199 Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

201 Monastery, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 Abbot, The. Sequel to “ The 

Monastery.” By Sir Walter 
Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

MaxO’Rell 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

205 Minister’s Wife, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 30 

806 Picture, The, and Jack of All 
Trades. By Charles Reade.. 10 


Pi’etty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Croker 20 

Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The, 
and Other Stories. Bj^ Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 
Octoroon, The. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

First half 20 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

Second half 20 

Terrible Temptation, A. By 

Chas. Reade 20 

Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

Foul Play. By Charles Reade . 20 
Man She Cared For, The. By 

F. W. Robinson 20 

Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 20 
Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 
the Forges. From the French 

of Georges Ohnet 10 

Which Loved Him Best? By 
Chq,rlotte M. Braeme, author 

of Dora Thorne ” 10 

Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By Helen 

B. Mathers 20 

Sun-Maid, The. By Miss Grant 20 
Sailor’s Sweetheart, A. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

Arundel Motto, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Giant’s Robe, The. By F. Anstey 20 

Friendship. By “Ouida” 20 

Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 20 
Princess Napraxine. “ Ouida ” 20 
Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander '. . . 10 

Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 20 

Griffith Gaunt; or. Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 20 

Love and Money; or, A Peril- 
ous Secret. By. Chas. Reade. 10 
“ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins 20 

Barbara; or. Splendid Misery. 


“ It is Never Too Late to Mend.” 

By Charles Reade 20 

Which Shall It Be? By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

Repented at Leisure. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

Pascarel. By “Ouida” 20 

Signa. By “Ouida” 20 

Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 
Baby’s Grandmother, The. By 
L. B. Walford .. 10 


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242 Two Orphans, The. By D’En- 

nery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” By 

Charles Lever. First half... 20 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” By 

Charles Lever. Second half. 20 

244 Great Mistake, A. By the author 


of “Cherry” 20 

245 Miss Tommy. By Miss Mulock 10 

246 Fatal Dower, A. By the Author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 20 

247 Armourer’s Prentices, The. By 

Charlotte M. Yongre 10 

248 House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. Warden 10 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By Charlotte M. Braeme, au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses ; or, Diana’s 

Discipline. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

251 Daughter of the Stars, The, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called 
Back” 10 

252 Sinless Secret, A. By “ Rita ” 10 

253 Amazon, The. By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 W ife’s Secret, The, and Fair but 

False. Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

255 Mystery, The. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

ByL. B. Waif Old 20 

257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 

geant 10 


258 Cousins. ByL. B. Walford.... 20 

259 Bride of Monte- Cristo, The. A 

Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monte-Cristo.” By Alexan- 
der Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 Fair Maid, A. By F. W. Robin- 

son 20 

262 Count of Monte-Cristo, The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part I 20 

262 Count of Monte-Cristo, The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part H 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

264 Pi6douche, a French Detective. 

By FortunS Du BoLsgobey. . . 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 

Affairs and Other Advent- 
ures. By William Black.... 20 
>66 Water-Babies, The. A Fairy 
Tale for a Land-Baby. By the 
Rev. Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By Mrs.. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride ; or. The Mi- 

ser’s Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

869 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

#70 Wandering Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part X 20 


Wandering Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part H 20 

Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part 1 20 

Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II 20 

Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marryat 10 

Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 
ing on an Island. B.v M. 

Betham-Ed wards 10 

Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

Three Brides, The. By Ghar- 

lotte M. Yonge 10 

Under the Lilies and Roses. 

By Florence Marryat (Mrs. 
Francis Lean) 10 


Surgeon’s Daughters, The, by 
Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word, by AV. E. Norris... 10 

For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 
Little Goldie : A Story of AVom- 
an’s Love. By Mrs. Sumner 


Hayden 20 

Omnia Vanitas. A. Tale of So- 
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

Squire’s Legacy, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Donal Grant. By George Mac- 
Donald 20 

Sin of a Lifetime, The. By 
Charlotte M. Bi'aeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

Doris. By “ The Duchess ” . . . . 10 

Gambler’s Wife, The 20 

Deldee ; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

AtWarAVith Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” !• 

At AVar AVith Herself. By diar- 
lotte M. Bi’aeme. (Large type 

edition) 20 

From Gloom to Sunlight; or 
From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

From Gloom to Sunlight; or. 
From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme. (Large 

type edition) 20 

John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True l.ight. By a “Brutal 

Saxon ” 10 

Nora’s Love Test. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Love’s AVarfare. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” T 10 

Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne” 10 

Shadow' of a Sin, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 10 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


948 Shadow of a Sin, 'I'he. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme. (Large type 
edition) 

294 Hilda; or. The False Vow. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Doi*a Thorne ” 

928 Hilda; or, The False Vow. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme. (Large 
type edition) 

295 Woman’s War, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 

952 Woman’s War, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme. (Large type edi- 
tion) 

296 Rose in Thorns, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 

297 Hilary’s Folly; or. Her Mar- 

riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne” 

953 Hilary’s Folly; or. Her Mar- 

riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme. (Large type edition) 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 

299 Fatal Lilies, The. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway 

302 Blatchford Bequest, The. By 

Hugh Conway, author of 
“ Called Back.” 

303 Ingledew House. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme. author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 

305 Dead Heart, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 

306 Golden Dawn, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 

307 Two Kisses. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 

308 Beyond Pardon 

309 Pathfinder, The. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 

310 Prairie, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. 

By R, H. Dana, Jr 

312 Week in Killarney, A. By “ The 

Duchess • * • • . 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 

Cashel-Hoey , 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill 

315 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 


316 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline 

Rodney’s Secret. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

317 By Mead and Stream. By Chas. 

Gibbon 2§ 

318 Pioneers, The ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 

320 Bit of Human Nature, A. By 

David Christie Murray 10 

321 Prodigals, The: And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant. 10 

322 Woman’s Love-Story, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thome ” 10 

323 Willful Maid, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

325 Portent, The. By George Mac- 

donald 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
George Macdonald 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

(Translated from the French 
of Fortun6 Du Boisgobey.) 
First half 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

(Translated from the French 
of Fortun6 Du Boisgobey.) 
Second half 20 

329 Polish Jew, The. (Translated 

from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) By Erckmann- 
Chatrian 10 

330 May Blossom ; or. Between Two 

Loves. By Margaret Lee. ... 20 

331 Gerald. By Eleanor C, Price.. 20 

332 Judith Wynne. By author of 

“ Lady Lovelace ’’ 20 

333 Frank Fairlegh; or. Scenes 

From the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 Marriage of .Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jay 10 

335 White Witch, The. A Novel. ..20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 21 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

338 Family Difficulty, The. By Sa- 

rah Doudney 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

842 Baby, The. By “ The Duchess ” 10 


20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

10 

20 

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343 Talk of the Town, The. By- 

James Payn 20 

344 “Wearing of the Green, The.” 

By Basil 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs Oliphant 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

348 Prom Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 
849 Two Admirals, The. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

351 House on the Moor, The. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

352 At Any Cost. By Edw. Garrett 10 

353 Black Dwarf, The. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

354 Lottery of Life, The. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris 10 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harwood 20 

359 Water-Witch, The. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Francil- 

lon 20 

361 Red Rover, The. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 Bride of Lammermoor, The. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

363 Surgeon’s Daughter, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott. . 10 

364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott 10 

365 George Christy; or, The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
Pastor 20 

366 Mysterious Hunter, The; or. 

The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 


367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 Southern Star, The ; or. The Dia- 

mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 

369 MissBretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 


phry Ward 10 

370 Lucy Crofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His Wedded Wife ’’. 10 

373 Wing-and-Wing. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 


374 Dead Man’s Secret, The ; or. The 
Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon. . 20 
875 Ride to Khiva, A. By Captain 
Fred Burnaby, of the Royal 
Horse Guards 20 


376 Crime of Christmas Day, The. 

By the author of “ My Ducats 
and My Daughter ’’ 10 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story of 

the Scottish Reformation. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

378 Homeward Bowid; or. The 

Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound.’’) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

Knoll. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

381 Red Cardinal, The. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

382 Three Sisters; or, Sketches of 

a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D’Esterre-Keeling. . . 10 

383 Introduced to Society. By Ham- 


ilton Aid6 10 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 

Minor. By Captain Fred Bur- 
naby 20 

385 Headsman, The; or. The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

386 Led Astray ; or, “ La Petite 

Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 

387 Secret of the Cliffs, The. By 

Charlotte French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or. Through 

Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “ Love or Lands?”'. 10 

389 Ichabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 

391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

393 Pirate, The. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 Bravo, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

395 Archipelago on Fire, The. By 

Jules Verne 10 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

398 Matt; A Tale of a Caravan. 

By Robert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee.. 20 

400 Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish, The. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or. Passages in the 

Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Sunnyside. By Mrs. 
Olmhant 20 

403 An English Squire. By C. R. 

Coleridge 20 

404 In Durance Vfie, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

406 Merchant’s Clerk, The. By Sam- 

uel Warren 10 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

409 Bov’s Wife. By G. J. AVhyte- 

Melville 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phaut 10 

411 Bitter Atonement, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

4T2 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fen- 

imore Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

415 Ways of the Hour, The. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or. The Florida Reef. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

417 Fair Maid of Perth, The; or, 

St. Valentine’s Day. By Sir 
Walter Scott 20 

418 St. Ronan’s Well. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

419 Chainbearer, The; or. The Lit- 

tlepage Manuscripts. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

420 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

421 Redskins, The; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

423 Sea Lions, The; or, The Lost 

Sealers. By J. F. Cooper — 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, Tne 

Voyage to Cathay. By J. Fen- 
imore Cooper 20 

425 Oak-Openings, The; or, The 

Bee-Hunter. By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

426 Venus’s Doves. By Ida Ash- 

worth Taylor 20 

427 Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
The. Formerly known as 
“ Tommy Upmore.” By R. 

D. Blackmore 20 

428 Z6ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell-Praed 10 


429 Boulderstone ; or. New Men and 

Old Populations. By W. Sime 10 

430 Bitter Reckoning,* A. By the au- 

thor of “ By Crooked Paths ” 10 
481 Monikins, The. By J. Fenimore 


Cooper 20 

432 Witch’s Head, The. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

433 My Sister Kate. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of ” Dora 
Thorne” 10 

434 Wyllard’s Weird. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. By George Taylor... 20 


436 Stella. By Fanny Lewald..... SO 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

(!huzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. First half 20 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. Second half 20 

438 Found Out. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

439 Great Expectations. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

441 Sea Change, A. By Flora L. 

Shaw 20 

442 Ranthorpe. By George Henry 

Lewes 20 

443 Bachelor of the Albany, The. .. 10 

444 Heart of Jane Warnerj The. By 

Florence Marryat... 20 

445 Shadow of a Crime, The. By 

Hall Caine 20 

446 Dame Durden. By “Rita”... 20 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers, &c. By Chas. 
Dickens 20 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

450 Godfrey Helstone. By Georgi- 

ana M. Craik 20 

451 Market Harborough, and Inside 

the Bar. G. J. Whyte-Melville 20 

452 In the West Countrie. By May 

Crommelin 20 

453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

454 Mystery of Edwin Drood, The. 

By Chas. Dickens . ... 20 

455 Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 

of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People. By Charles Dick- 
ens 20 


457 Russians at the Gates of Herat, 

The. By Charles Marvin. ... 10 

458 Week of Passion, A; or. The 

Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Younger. By Edward 


Jenkins 20 

459 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme. (Large 

type edition) 20 

951 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

460 Under a Shadow. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

461 His Wedded Wife. By author 

of “ A Fatal Dower ” 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in 'Wonder- 

land. By Lewis Carroll. With 
forty - two illustrations by 
John Tenniel • 20 

463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY—Pocket Edition. 


d 


464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 


1 20 

464 Newcomes, The. By William 

Makepeace Thackeray. Part 
II 20 

465 Earl’s Atonement, The. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

467 Struggle for a Ring, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

468 Fortunes, Good and Bad, of a 

Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 18 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret; or, A 

Guiding Star. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

472 Wise Women of Inverness, 

The. By Wm. Black 10 

473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Liuskill. 10 

474 Serapis. By George Ebers 20 

475 Prima Donna’s Husband, The. 20 

By F. Du Boisgobe 5 ’ 

476 Between Two Sins; or. Married 

in Haste. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

477 Affinities. A Romance of To- 


day. By Mrs. Campbell-Praed 10 
478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 

ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
Partll 20 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

481 House That Jack Built, The. 

By Alison 10 

482 Vagrant Wife, A. By F. Warden 20 

483 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 

the author of “A Golden Bar ”10 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales. Mrs. Forrester. 10 

485 Tinted Vapours. By J. Maclaren 


Cobban 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart. By “ The 

Duchess ” : — 90 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

490 Second Life, A. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander..... 20 


491 Society in London. By a For- 


eign Resident 10 

492 Mignon ; or. Booties’ Baby. By 

J. S. Winter. Illustrated 10 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. By 

Lucas Malet 20 

494 Maiden All Forlorn, A, and Bar- 

bara. By “ The Duchess ”... 10 

495 Mount Royal. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 Lady’s Mile, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

499 Cloven Foot, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

500 Adrian Vidal. By W. E. Norris 20 

501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. By F. Mabel 

Robinson 20 

502 Carriston’s Gift. By Hugh 

Conwaj^ author of “Called 
Back”... 10 


503 Tinted Venus, The. By F. Anstey 10 

504 Curly; An Actor’s Stor 3 \ By 

John Coleman. Illustrated. 10 

505 Society of London, Tlie. By 

Count Paul Vasili 10 

506 Lady Lovelace. By the author 

of “Judith Wynne” 20 

507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories. By Sir 
Walter Scott 10 

508 Unholy Wish, The. By Mrs., 

Henry Wood 10 

509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop- 

kins 20 

510 Mad Love, A. By the author of 

“ Lover and Lord ” 10 

511 Strange World, A. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

512 Waters of Hercules, The 20 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 
Wood 10 

514 Mystery of Jessy Page, The, 

and Other Tales. By Mrs. 
Henry Wood 10 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

516 Put Asunder; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 

517 Passive Crime, A, and Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

518 Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

519 James Gordon’s Wife, A Novel 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me. By 

Hall CaUie 10 

521 Entangled. By E. Fairfax 

Byrrne 20 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or. The, 

Steel Gauntlets. By F. Du 
Boisgobey 20 

523 Consequences of a Duel, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 


10 


THE SEASIDE LTBRAEY— Pocket Edition. 


5:24 Strangers and Pilgrims. By 
Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories. 

By Hugh Conway, author of 
“Called Back” 10 

526 Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

527 Days of My Life. The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

528 At His Gates. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

529 Doctor’s Wife, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

5:20 Pair of Blue Eyes, A. By Thom- 
as Hardy 20 

531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. First Half. . 20 

531 Prime IMiuister, The. By An- 

thony Trollope. Second Half 20 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 
5.33 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh 20 

534 Jack. By Alphonse Daudet 20 

535 Henrietta’s Wish; or. Domi- 

neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

5.36 Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
drew Lang 10 

537 Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10 

538 Fair Country Maid, A. By E. 

Fairfax Byrrne . . . . 20 

5.39 Silvermead. By Jean Middle- 
mas 20 

540 At a High Price. By E. Werner 20 

541 “ As it Fell Upon a Day,” by 

“The Duchess,” and Uncle 

Jack, by Walter Besant 10 

.542 Fenton’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

54.3 Family Affair, A. By Hugh 
Conway, author of “ Called 

Back ” 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 
Darnel. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don 10 

515 Vida’s Story. By author of 

“ Guilty Without Crime ” 10 

541) Mrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

547 Coquette’s Conquest, A. By 

Basil *. 20 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, and The 

Shadow in the Corner. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 10 

5 !9 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 
er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 10 

550 Struck Down. By Hawley Smart 10 

551 Barbara Heathcote's Trial. By 

Rosa No uchette Carey 20 

5.5:2 Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

5.53 Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon ; 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (A Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey.”) By 
Miss M. E. Braddon. . . 20 

555 Cara Roma. By Miss Grant 20 

556 Prince of Darkness, A. By F. 

Warden 20 , 


557 To the Bitter End. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

558 Poveri.y Corner. By G. Manville 

Fenn 20 

559 Taken at the Flood. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

560 Asphodel. By Miss M. E. Brad- 

don 20 

561 Just As I Am ; or, A Living Lie. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

562 Lewis Arundel; or. The Rail- 

road of Life. By Frank E. 
Smedley 20 

563 Two Sides of the Shield, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

564 At Bay. By Mrs. Alexander. . . 10 

565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 10 

566 Royal Highlanders, The; or, 

The Black Watch in Egypt. 

By James Grant 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

568 Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

569 Harr}^ Muir. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

571 Paul Carevv’s Story. By Alice 

Corny ns Carr 10 

572 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill. 20 

573 Love’s Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 20 

574 Nabob, The: A Story of Paris- 

ian Life and Manners. By Al- 
phonse Daudet 20 

575 Finger of Fate, The. By Cap- 

tain Mayne Reid 20 

576 Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

577 In Peril and Privation. By 

James Payn 10 


578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Parti. 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 

578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 

Verne. (Illustrated.) Part III 10 

579 Flower of Doom, The, and 

Other Stories. By M. Betham- 


Edwards 10 

580 Red Route, The. . By William 

Sime 20 

581 Betrothed, The. (I Promessi 

Sposi,) Alessandro Manzoni. 20 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needed 20 

.583 Victory Deane. By Cecil Griffith 20 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

585 Drawn Game, A. By Basil 20 

586 “ For Percival.” By Margaret 

Veley 20 

587 Parson o’ Dumford, The. By 

G. Manville Fenn 20 

588 Cherry. By the author of “A 

Great Mistake” 10 

589 Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Payn 20 

590 Courting of Mary Smith, The. 

By F. W. Robinson 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Pocket Edition. 


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601 Queen of Hearts, The. By Wil- 


kie Collins 20 

502 Strange Voyage, A. By W. 
Clark Russell 20 

593 Berna Boyle. By Mrs. J. H. 

Riddell 20 

594 Doctor Jacob. By Miss Betham- 

Ed wards 20 

595 North Country. Maid, A. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 20 

596 My Ducats and My Daughter. 

Bj^ the author of “ The Crime 

of Christmas Day” 20 

697 Haco the Dreamer. By William 
Sime 10 

598 Corinna. By “Rita” 10 

599 Lancelot Ward, M.P. By George 

Temple 10 

600 Houp-La. By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) 10 

601 Slings and Arrows, and other 

Stories. By Hugh Conway, 
author of “Called Back”... 10 

602 Camiola: A Girl With a Fortune. 

By Justin McCarthy 20 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

Half 20 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 

ond Half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 

Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 
Half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 

Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond Half 20 

605 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer. By Georgiana M. 

Craik 20 

607 Self-Doomed. By B. L. Farjeon 10 

608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

• • • • 20 

609 Dark House, The : A Knot Un- 

raveled. By G. Manville Fenn 10 

610 Story of Dorothy Grape, The, 

and Otlmr Tales. By Mrs. 
Henry AVood 10 


611 Babylon. By Cecil Power 20 

612 My Wife's Niece. By the author 

of “Doctor Edith Romney”. 20 

613 Ghost’s Touch, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths... 10 

615 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

616 Sacred Nugget, The. By B. L. 

Farjeon 20 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “ Rita ”. 20 

618 Mistletoe Bough, The. Clirist- 

mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

619 Joy ; or, The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford. By May Crom- 
melin 20 

620 Between the Heather and the 

Northern Sea. By M. Linskill 20 

621 AVarden, The. By Anthony 

Trollope ; 10 

622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By 

Anthony Trcdlope W 


623 My Lady’s Money. By Wilkie 

Collins......" 10 

624 Primus in Indis. By M. J. Col- 

quhoun 10 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. 

By R. D. Blackmore 20 

626 Fair Mystery, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeine, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

627 White Heather. By Wm. Black 20 

628 Wedded Hands. By the author 

of “ My Lady’s FoUy ” 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore *. 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. First half 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. Second half 20 

631 Christowell. By R. D. Blackmore 20 

632 Clara Vaughan. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

634 Unforeseen, The. By Alice 

O’Hanlon 20 

635 Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

636 Alice Ijorraine. By R. D. Black- 

more. 2d half 20 

637 What’s His Offence? T5y author 

of “ The Two Miss Flemings ” 20 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 

Black Horse) Dragoons. By 


J. S. AVinter 10 

639 Othmar. By “Ouida” 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 2ft 

641 Rabbi’s Spell, The. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland lO; 

642 Britta. By George Temple 10, 

643 Sketch-book of Geoffrey Cray- 

on, Gent, The. By AVasliing- 
ton Irving 2ffi 

644 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20} 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By 

Rhoda Broughton 10. 

646 Master of the Mine, The. By 

Robert Buchanan 20 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

melin !• 

648 Angel of the Bells, The. By F. 

Du Boisgobey 20 

649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 20 

650 Alice; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 

quel to “ Ernest Maltravers.”) 


By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.... 20 

651 “ Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

Besant 10 

652 Lady With the Rubies, The. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

653 Barren Title, A. T. AV. Speight 10 

654 “ Us.” An Old-fashioned. Story, 

fiy Mrs. Moleswortb ......... lO 


12 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


665 Open Door, The. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 

656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior.. 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. Far- 

jeon 

658 History of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 

659 Waif of the “ Cynthia,” The. 

By Jules Verne 

660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 1st half 

660 Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 2d half 

661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 

tie Murray 

662 Mystery of Allan Grale, The. By 

Isabella Fyvie Mayo 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 

664 Rory O’More. By Samuel Lover 

665 Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 

666 My Young Alcides. By Char- 

lotte M. Yonge 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 

669 Philosophy of Whist, The. By 

William Pole 

670 Rose and the Ring, The. By 

W. M. Thackeray. Illustrated 

671 Don Gesualdo. By“Ouida.”.. 

672 In Maremma. By ” Ouida.” 1st 

half 

672 In Maremma, By “ Ouida.” 2d 

half 

(673 Story of a Sin, By Heleti B, 

Mathers 

(674 First Person Singular. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 

(675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thacke- 
ray 

•676 Child’s History of England, A. 
By Charles Dickens 

677 Griselda. By the author of “A 

Woman’s Love-Story” 

678 Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 

679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

Sarah Doudney 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 

681 Singer’s Story, A. By May 

Laftan 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

T^iicgaII 

683 Bachelor Vicar ’ of ' Newfoith, 

The. By Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe 

684 I^ast Days at Apswich 

685 England under Gladstone. 1880 

—1886. By Justin H. McCar- 
thy, M.P 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson 

687 Country Gentleman, A. By Mrs, 

Oliphant 


688 Man of Honor, A, By John 

Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 

689 Heir Presumptive, The. By 


Florence Marryat 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd, 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

692 Mikado, The, and other Comic 

Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 20 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce. By David Christie 
Murray 20 

696 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

698 Life’s Atonement, A. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

699 Sculptor’s Daughter, The. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 1st half ... 20 

699 Sculptor’s Daughter, The. By 

F. Du Boisgobey, 2d half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. First half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. Second half 20 

701 Woman in White, The. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 1st half 20 

701 Woman in White, The. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated, 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. First half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins, Second half 20 

703 House Divided Against Itself, 

A. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven- 

son : 10 

705 Woman I Loved, The,* and the 

Woman Who Loved Me. By 
Isa Blagden 10 

706 Crimson Stain, A. By Annie 

Bradshaw 10 


707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 

Raveloe. By George Eliot. . . 10 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 

myra. By William Ware. 


First half 20 

709 Zenobia ; or. The Fall of Pal- 

myra. Bi'- William Ware. 
Second half 10 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

711 Cardinal Sin, A. By Hugh Con- 

way, author of. ‘‘ Called 
Back” ao 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen J0O 


10 

10 

10 

10 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

10 

10 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRAHY — Pocket Edition. 


13 


713 “ Cherry Ripe.” By Helen B, 

Mathers 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

Tighe Hopkins 20 

715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished. By 

Marj" Cecil Hay 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 

riage Verdict. By Alexander 
Dumas 20 

718 Unfairly Won. By Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

By Lord Byron 10 

720 Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lytton, Bart 20 

721 Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester. . . 20 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

Macdonald 20 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

Wemyss Reid 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady. Bj^ 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico 10 

726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. . 20 

727 F air Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot 10 

729 Mignon. By Mrs. Forrester... 20 

730 Autobiography of Benjamin 

Franklin, The 10 

731 Bayou Bride, The. By Mrs. 

Mary E. Bryan 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

133 Lady Branksmere. By ” The 

Duchess” 20 

734 Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

736 Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 20 

739 Caged Lion, The. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

741 Heiress of Hilldrop, The; or, 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 


742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 


M. Yonge 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 
Russell. 2d half 20 


744 Diana Carew; or. For a Wom- 

an’s Sake. . By Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

746 Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. 

By J. S. Winter 20 


747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 

748 Hurrish: A Study. By the 


Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 
Mabel Collins 20 


750 An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 

750 An Old Story of My Farming 

Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great .Navi- 

gators. Jules Verne. 1st half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 

gators. Jules Verne. 2d half 20- 

752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

By Juliana Horatio Ewing. . . 10 

753 King Solomon’s Mines. By H. 


Rider Haggard 20 

754 How to be Happy Though Mar- 

ried. By a Graduate in the 
University of Matrimony 20 

755 Margery Daw. A Novel ^ 

756 Strange Adventures of Captain 

Dangerous, The. By George 
Augustus Sala 20 

757 Love’s Martyr, By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

758 “Good-bye, Sweetheart!” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 20 

760 Aurelian ; or, Rome in the Third 

Century. By William Ware. 20 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By William 

H. G. Kingston 20 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. By George Eliot 10 

763 Midshipman, The, Marmaduke 

Merry. Wm. H. G. Kingston. 20 

764 Evil GeniiKs, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too AVell. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 


766 No. XIII. ; or. The Story of the 

Lost Vestal. Emma Marshall 10 

767 Joan. By Rhoda Broughton. , 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda 


Broughton 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

770 Castle of Otranto, The. By 

Horace Walpole 10 

771 Mental Struggle, A. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20 

773 Mark of Cain, The, By Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 Life and Travels of Mungo 

jP^rlc Th©. 10 

775 Three Clerks, The. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

776 Pere Goriot. By H. De Balzac 20 

777 Voyages and Travels of Sir 

John Maundeville, Kt., The.. 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 

thor of “My Marriage ”. 20 

779 Doom ! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P, 10 


14 


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780 Rare Pale Margaret. By the au- 

thor of “ What’s His Offeuee?” 20 

781 Secret Dispatch, The. By James 


Grant 10 

782 Closed Door, The. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

782 Closed Door, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

783 Chantry House. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

784 Two Miss Flemings, The. By au- 

thor of “ What’s His Offence?” 20 

785 Haunted Chamber, The. By 

“ The Duchess ” 10 


786 Ethel Mildmaj'-’s Follies. By 

author of “ Petite's Romance ” 20 

787 Court Royal. A Story of Cross 

Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 

788 Absentee, The. An Irish Story. 

By Maria Edgeworth 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 

and What Alice Found There. 

By Lewis Carroll. With fifty 
illustrations by John Tenniel. 20 

790 Chaplet of Pearls, Tlie; or, The 

White and Black Ribaumonr. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 

790 Chaplet of Pearls, The ; or, The 

White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 

791 Mayor of Casterbridge, The. By 


Thomas Hardy 20 

792 Set in Diamonds. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield, First half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 
Beaconsfield. Second half. . . 20 

794 Beaton’s Bargain. By Mrs. Al- 

exander 20 

795 Sam’s Sweetheart. By Helen 

B. Mathers., 20 

796 In a Grass Country. By Mrs. 

H. Lovett Cameron 20 

797 Look Before You Leap. By 

Mrs. Alexander 20 

798 Fashion of this World, The. By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves. By 

Helen B. Mathers 20 


800 Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 

800 Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 

from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 

801 She Stoops to Conquer, and 

The Good-Natured Man. By 


Oliver Goldsmith 10 

802 Stern Chase, A. By Mrs.Cashel- 

Hoey 20 

803 Major Frank. By A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

804 Living or Dead. By Hugh Con- 


way, author of “Called Back ” 20 


Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 1st half 20 

Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 2d half 20 

Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. First half 20 

Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. Second half 20 

If Love Be Love. D. Cecil Gibbs 20 

King Arthur. Not a Love Story. 

By Miss Mulock 20 

Witness My Hand. By the au- 
thor of “ Lady Gwendolen’s 

Tryst ” 10 

Secret of Her Life, Tlie. By Ed- 
ward Jenkins 20 

Head Station, The. By Mrs. 

Campbell-Praed 20 

No Saint. By Adeline Sergeant 20 
Army Society. Life in a Garri- 
son Town. By John Strange 

Winter 10 

Heritage of Langdale, The. By 

Mrs. Alexander 20 

Ralph W ilton’s Weird. By Mrs. 

Alexander 10 

Rogues and Vagabonds. By 
George R. Sims, author of 

“’Ostler Joe” .^... 20 

Stabbed in the Dark. By Mrs. 

E. Lynn Linton 10 

Pluck. By John Strange Winter 10 
Fallen Idol, A. By F. Anstey. . . 20 
Doris's Fortune. By Florence 

Warden 10 

World Between Them, The. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “Dora Thorne.” 20 

Passion Flower, A. A Novel... 20 
Heir of the Ages, The. By James 

Payn 20 

Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10 
Master Passion, The. By Flor- 
ence Marry at 20 

Cynic Fortune. By D. Christie 

Murray 20 

Effie Ogilvie. By Mrs. Oliphant ^ 
Prettiest Woman in Warsaw, 
The. By Mabel Collins 20 


thor of “A Fatal Dower”... 20 
Bound by a Spell. Hugh Con- 
way, author of “ Called Back” 20 
Pomegranate Seed. By the au- 

nnV»£i TVTicic* 


ings,” etc 20 

Kidnapped. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson .... 20 

Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. First half 10 

Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. Second half 10 

Ballroom Repentance, A. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

Vivian the Beauty. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

Point of Honor, A. By Mrs. An- 
nie Edwards 20 


805 

805 

806 

806 

807 

808 

809 

810 

811 

812 

813 

814 

815 

816 

817 

818 

819 

820 

821 

822 

823 

824 

825 

826 

827 

828 

829 

830 

831 

832 

833 

833 

834 

835 

836 


THE SEASn)E LHBRARY — Pocket Edition. 15 


837 Vagabond Heroine, A. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

839 Leah : A Woman of Fashion. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or. The 

Penalty of Fate. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

842 Blue-Stocking, A. By Mrs. An- 

nie Edwards 10 

843 Archie Lovell. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

81-1 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie 
Edwards 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe ; or. The Mor- 

als of May Fair. By Mrs. 
Annie Edwards 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards. 1st half 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards. 2d half 20 

847 Bad to Beat. By Hawley Smart 10 

848 My Friend Jim. By W. E. Norris 10 

849 Wicked Girl, A. Marj’^ Cecil Hay 20 


850 Playwright’s Daughter, A. By. 


Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

851 Cry of Blood, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. First half 20 

851 Cry of Blood, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobe}\ Second half 20 

852 Under Five Lakes; or. The 

Cruise of the “ Destroyer.” 

By M. Quad 20 

853 True Magdalen, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

854 Woman’s Error, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

855 Dynamiter, The. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson and Fanny 
Van de Grift Stevenson 20 

856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob- 

ert Louis Stevenson 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 

Red House. By Mary E. 
Br3"an. First half 20 

857 Kildee; or. The Sphinx of the 

Red House. By Mai*y E. 
Bryan. Second half 20 

858 Old Ma’m’selle’s Secret. By E. 

Marlitt 20 

859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth Century 

Idyl, and The Prince of the lOO 
Soups. By Vernon Lee 20 

860 Her Lord and Master. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

861 My Sister the Actress. By Flor- 

ence Marrj’at 20 

862 Ugly Barrington. By “ The 

Duchess.” 10 

863 “ My Own Child.” By Florence 

Marj-yat 20 

864 “ No Intentions.” By Florence 

Marryat 20 


865 Written in Fire. By Florence 

Marryat 20 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband; or. 

Spiders of Society. By Flor- 
ence Marryat I .' 20 

867 Girls of Feversham, The. B^'^ 

Floi’ence Marryat *. 20 

868 Petronel. By Florence Marryat 20 

869 Poison of Asps, The. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 10 

870 Out of His Reckoning. By Flor- 


871 Bachelor’s Blunder, A. By W . 

E. Norris 20 

872 With Cupid’s E5’es. By Flor- 

ence Blarryat 20 

873 Hai'vest of Wild Oats, A. B^' 

Florence Marryat 20 

874 House Party, A. B.y “ Ouicla ”. 10 

875 Lady Valworth’s Diamonds. By 

“The Duchess” 20 

876 Mignon’s Secret. John Strangt* 

Winter 10 

877 Facing the Footlights. B3’ Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

878 Little Tu’penny. By S. Baring- 

Gould 10 

879 Touchstone of Peril, The. Bj’ 

R. E. Forrest 20 

880 Son of His Father, The. B3' 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

881 Mohawks. Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

882 Children of Gibeon. By Walter 

Besant 20 

883 Once Again. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

884 Voyage to the Cape, A. By W. 

Clai-k Russell 20 

885 Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

Parti 20 

885 Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 
Part II 20 

885 Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

Partin 20 

886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and 

Miser. Mrs. E. Ls’un Linton 20 

887 Modern Telemachus, A. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

888 Treasure Island. Robert Louis 

Stevenson 10 

889 An Inland Voyage. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson 10 

890 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 

mas, 1886. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

891 Vera Nevill; or. Poor Wisdom’s 

Chance. By Mrs. H. Lovett 
Cameron 20 

892 That Winter Night; or. Love’s 

Victory. Robert Buchanan. . 10 

893 Love s Conflict. By Florence 

Marryat. First half 20 

893 Love’s Conflict. By Florence 

Marrvat. Second half 20 

894 D o c 1 6 r C u p i d. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

895 Star and a Heart, A. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 10 

896 Guilty River, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 


16 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


897 Ange. By Florence Marryat. . . 20 

898 Bulldog and Butterfly, and Julia 

and Her Romeo, by David 
Christie Murray, and Romeo 


and Juliet, by William Black. 20 

899 Little Stepson, A, By Florence 

Marryat 10 

900 Woman’s Wit, By. By Mrs, Al- 

exander 20 

901 Lucky Disappointment, A. By 

Florence Marryat 10 

902 Poor Gentleman, A. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

903 Phyllida. ^ Florence Marryat 20 

904 Holy Rose, The. By Walter Be- 

sant 10 

905 Fair-Haired Alda, The. By Flor- 

ence Marryat 20 

906 World Went Very Well Then, 

The. By Walter Besant 20 

907 Bright Star of Life, The. By 

B. L. Far jeon 20 

908 Willful Young Woman, A 20 

909 Nine of Hearts, The. By B. L. 

Farjeon 20 

910 She: A History of Adventure. 

By H. Rider Haggard 20 

911 Golden Bells: A Peal in Seven 

Changes. By R. E. Francillon 20 

912 Pure Gold. By Mrs. H. Lovett 

Cameron 20 

913 Silent Shore. The. By John 

Bloundelle- Burton 20 

914 Joan Wentworth. By Katha- 

rine S. Macquoid 20 

915 That Other Person. By Mrs. 

Alfred Hunt 20 

916 Golden Hope, The. By W. Clark 

Bussell. . 20 

917 Case of Reuben Malachi, The. 

By H. Sutherland Edwards.. 10 

918 Red Band, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. First ha If 20 

918 Red Band, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. Second half 20 

919 Locksley Hall Sixty Years Af- 

ter, etc. By Alfred, Lord 
Tennyson, P.L.. D.C.L 10 

920 Child of the Revolution, A. By 

the author of Mademoiselle 
Mori ” 20 

921 Late Miss Hollingford, The. 

By Rosa Mulholland 10 

922 Marjorie. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne.” 20 

287 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
” Dora Thorne ” 10 

923 At War With Herself. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme. (Large type 
edition) 20 

924 ’Twixt Smile and Tear. Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

925 The Outsider. Hawley Smart. 20 

926 Springhaven. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 


927 Sweet Cymbeline. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 

” Dora Thorne ” 20 

294 Hilda; or. The False Vow. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

928 Hilda; or, The False Vow. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of ” Dora Thorne.” (Large 
type edition) 20 

929 The Belle of Lynn; or. The 

Miller’s Daughter. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

930 Uncle Max. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey 20 

931 Lady Diana’s Pride. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
‘‘Dora Thorne ” 20 

932 Queenie’s Whim. Rosa Nou- 

chette Carey< 20 

933 A Hidden Terror. Mary Albert 20 

934 Wooed and Married. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

935 Borderland. Jessie Fothergill. 20 

936 Nellie’s Memories. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey .n 20 

937 Cashel Byron’s Profession. By 

George Bernard Shaw 20 

938 Cranford. By Mrs. Gaskell 20 

939 Why Not? Florence Marryat.. 20 

940 The lilerry Men, and Other Tales 

and Fables. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson 20 

941 Jess. By H. Rider Haggard. . . 20 

942 Cash on Delivery. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

943 Weavers and Weft; or, ‘‘ Love 

that Hath Us in His Net,” By 
Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

944 The Professor. By Charlotte 

Bront6 20 

945 The Trumpet-Major. Thomas 

Hardy 20 

946 The Dead Secret. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, Lu- 

cius Davoren, By Miss M. E. 
Braddon. First half 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, Lu- 

cius Davoren. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon. Second half 20 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
‘‘ Dora Thorne ” 10 

948 The Shadow of a Sin. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
‘‘ Dora Thorne.” (Large type 
edition) 20 

949 Claribel’s Love Story; or. 

Love’s Hidden Depths. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By “ The Duch- 
ess.” (Large type edition). . . 20 

950 Mrs. Geoffrey. ‘‘ The Duchess ” 1C 
459 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of ‘‘Dora Thorne.” (Large 
type edition) 2C 


THE SEASIDE LIBHAHY — Pocket Edition. 17 


951 Woman's Temptation, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

295 Woman’s War, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

952 Woman’s War, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of ” Dora 
Thorne.” (Large type edition) 20 
297 Hilary’s Folly; or. Her Mar- 
riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of ” Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

953 Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Mar- 

riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne.” (Large type edition) 20 

954 A Girl’s Heart. By the author 

of “Nobody’s Darling” 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 
From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

955 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 

From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme,. author 
of “Dora Thorne.” (Large 
type edition) 20 

956 Her Johnnie. By Violet Whyte 20 

957 The Woodlanders. By Thomas 

Hardy 20 

958 A Haunted Life; or, Her Terri- 

ble Sin. Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “Dora Thorne”... 20 


20 


959 Dawn. By H. Rider Haggard. 20 

960 Elizabeth’s Fortune. By Bertha 

Thomas 20 

961 Wee Wifie. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey oq 

962 Sabina Zembra. William Black 20 

963 Worth Winning. By Mr s, H. 

Lovett Cameron 20 

964 A Struggle for the Right; or, 

Tracking the Truth 20 

965 Periwinkle. By Arnold Gray. . 20 

966 He, by the author of “King 
Solomon’s Wives”; and A 
Siege Baby and Childhood’s 
Memories, by J. S. Winter.... 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” (Large tvpe 
Edition) 20 

967 Repented at Leisure. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

968 Blossom and Fruit; or, Ma- 

dame’s Ward. By the author 
of “ Wedded Hands ” 20 

969 The Mystery of Colde Fell ; or, 

Not Proven. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

970 King Solomon’s Wives; or. The 

Phantom Mines, By Hyder 
Ragged. (Illustrated) 20 

971 Garrison Gossip: Gathered in 

Blankhampton. John Strange 
Winter.., 20 

972 Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt 20 

Persons who wish to purchase the foregoing works in a complete 
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The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 

Always Uncliaiigetl and Unal>ridg;’ed. 

LATES'J’ ISSUES: 


931 


20 

20 

20 


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NO. PRICK 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

432 THE WITCH’S HEAD. By 

H. Rider Haggard 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. “The Duchess” 

(Large type edition) 20 

237 Repented at Leisure By Char- 
lotte M. Braerne, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” (Large type 

edition) 20 

459 A Woman’s Temptation. By 
Charlotte M. Braerne. (Large 

type edition) 20 

922 Marjorie. Charlotte M. Braerne, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 

924 ’Twixt Smile and Tear. Char- 
lotte M. Braerne 

927 Sweet Cymbeline. By Char- 
lotte M. Braerne 

929 The Belle of Lynn; or, The 
Miller’s Daughter. By Char- 
lotte M. Braerne, author of 

Dora Thorne” 

Lady Diana’s Pride. By Char- 
lotte M. Braerne, author of 

“Dora Thorne ” 

948 The Shadow of a Sin. By Char- 
lotte M. Braerne, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” (Large type 

edition) 20 

Claribel’s Love Story; or. 
Love’s Hidden Depths. By 
Chai’lotte M. Br-aeme, author 
of “Dora Thorne” 

952 A Woman’s War. By Charlotte 

M. Braerne, author of “ Dora 
Thorne.” (Large type edition) 20 

953 Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Mar- 

riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braerne, author of “ Dora 
Thorne.” (Large type edition) 20 
955 From Gloom to Sunlight; or. 
From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braerne. (Large 

type edition) 20 

958 A Haunted Life; or, Her Terri- 
ble Sin. Charlotte M. Braerne 20 

964 A Struggle for the Right; or, 

Tracking the Truth 

965 Periwinkle. By Arnold Gray. . 

966 He, by the author of “ King 

Solomon’s Wives”; and A 
Siege Baby and Childhood’s 
Memories, by J. S. Winter 

968 Blossom and Fruit; or, Ma- 

dame’s Ward. By the author 
of “Wedded Hands” 

969 The Alystery of Colde Fell ; or, 

Not Proven. By Charlotte M. 
Braerne, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 


949 


20 


20 

20 


20 


20 


20 


NO. PRICK. 

970 King Solomon’s Wives; or. The 

Phantom Mines. By Hyder 
Ragged. (Illustrated) 20 

971 Garrison Gossip: Gathered in 

Blankhampton. John Strange 
Winter 20 

972 Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt 20 

973 The Squire’s Darling. By Char- 

lotte M. Braerne, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ”. 20 

974 Strathmore; or, Wrought by 

His Own Hand. By“Ouida.” 
First half 20 

974 Strathmore; or, Wrought by 

His Own Hand. By “ Ouida.” 
Second half 20 

975 A Dark Marriage Morn. By 

Charlotte M. Braerne, author 
of “Dora Thorne” 20 

976 Robur the Conqueror; or, A 

Trip Round the World in a 
Flying Machine. Jules Verne 20 

977 The Haunted Hotel. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

978 Her Second Love* By Char- 

lotte M. Braerne, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

979 The Count’s Secret. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Parti 20 

979 The Count’s Secret. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Part II 20 

980 To Call Her Mine. By Walter 

Besant 20 

981 Granville de Vigne ; or. Held in 

Bondage. By “Ouida.” 1st 

-half 20 

981 Granville de Vigne; or. Held in 
Bondage. By “Ouida.” 2d 
half 20 

983 Uarda. A Romance of Ancient 

Egypt. By George Ebers 20 

984 Her Own Sister. By E. S. 

Williamson 20 

985 On Her Wedding Morn, and 

The Mystei-y of the Holly- 
Tree, Charlotte M. Braerne, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

986 The Great Hesper. By Frank 

Barrett 20 

987 Brenda Yorke, and Upon the 

Waters. By Mary Cecil Hay. 

988 The Shattered Idol, and Letty 

Leigh. Charlotte M. Braerne, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 

989 Allan Quatermain. By H. Rider 

Haggard 20 

991 Mr. Midshipman Easy. By Cap- 
tain Marryat 20 

994 A Penniless Orphan. By W. 
Heimburg 20 


20 


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